Friday Night Creative Way

Happy Friday!  Creativity lately has hit a snag with a cold.  They really put a chisel in the creativity with productivity in a way that leaves a creatively inclined person lack trust with themselves to make a logical decision on story writing.  It is what it is.   What project are you working on? Is it art? Is it writing?  Let us know!  Sit down with a desert with a coffee or tea and let's talk on creativity.  When age did it all start for you?  Got some stories to tell?  Maybe now is the time.  Start a journal.  I have a system. In the morning I write three pages of nonsense literally.  It clears the static and puts the mind in gear. Drop on by and let's talk about the creativity process.  Stuck on an assignment or have questions in the field of writing or art? We're here to inspire to help with your aspirations. Thank you for stopping by.

Good luck on your project!

 

What Happened To The Magic?

 

Giant drapes walled off the central mermaid bay at Five Forks Emporium. Shoppers at the sports complex weren't supposed to see rehearsals for tonight's extravaganza. Starting at eight, the mermaid trio would thrill the crowd with eye-popping stunts. Demanding the most attention, the Slide Hoop loomed large and forbidding, but someone had to calibrate it. Sirtis, the dark haired blue marmaid, volunteered.

Blonde Binia, having white and purple flukes, floated lazily next to red haired Ellie in green. They made sure to stay clear of the splash zone.

"Got reservations?" Ellie asked, hands linked behind her head. 

"Hm? Oh, not about the stunt--just the necessity for them. The act is going Hollywood these days. What happened to the magic?"

"I know what you mean." Ellie went vertical, floating neck deep, watching Sirtis pull herself up the ladder. "It's more fun when the schools are here. The kids think we're the real thing."

Sirtis ventured forth, beginning a steep belly slide. Ideally, she'd sail through a large hoop--fire having been firmly declined--to dive into the lagoon. Though carefully calculated, her trajectory came up short.

"Waaaaa!" Sirtis caught the hoop low, swinging back and forth, tail and arms dangling. 

Ellie laughed. "Now that's a weird catch. What the heck is it? The fishermen should throw it back."

"Ha, ha." Sirtis hung by her hands, did a flip to splash down head first. She popped up close by. "So the hoop needs to be lowered. Who's next?"

"You're doing fine," Binia insisted. "We'll be a lot more confident when you fly through in one piece."

"This bites," Sirtis groused. "Are we a circus now?"

Actually, part of the presentation was just that, adapted by a producer for a popular TV stunt show.

The suit watched from the center island. "We're on a schedule, ladies. You want to pass the audition, don't you?"

The trio eyed each other. "Audition?" they said in unison.

Some of the emporium brass loitered at the glass barrier on the service end, no doubt dreaming of TV fame and getting the complex on the map. 

Sirtis swam over to the slide and hauled herself out of the water. "Mr Jeffers," she said to the producer. "There's a rough spot on the top platform. I almost lost a few scales."

Jeffers hurried up the ladder. "How can that be? It's polished aluminum."

Binia had a pained look. "She wouldn't." 

"I think she would," Ellie affirmed.

Just as Jeffers crouched at the top, Sirtis' blue tail lashed out to propel him on his way.

"Woahhhhhh!" Jeffers raced down the slide, arms flailing, and sailed neatly through the hoop. He made a mighty splash, foundering like the Titanic.

Binia and Ellie got to him before he drowned. 

"What the hell?" he spluttered, his mood not helped by chuckles from the service end.

"You should be honored," Binia said. "The Sirits Slap is the highlight of the show when she uses it."

The pair helped a sodden producer perch on the island edge, legs still in the water. He coughed and wiped water from his eyes. 

"You can't be serious. I'm supposed to do that for the audience?" He turned to the brass in appeal.

The company president made a smiling thumbs up.

The Admirers

 

This is a 10x10 sequence created as a 'drop in' segment for a comic. Hasn't been used yet, but it features the sorceress Valkris on a ship with Ed and Pete of Team Dan. Their stealth admiration for her has gotten them in numerous comic scrapes. Other uses for such panels are 'retreads' of pages you decide aren't going anywhere, but some of the art is reusable. 

Sifting through the Blocks

 Happy Friday fellow writers and artists.  I hope you had a great week and the month has been a good one. Tomorrow is the first day of spring. It's been a strange but good winter. So far in book 3 I got to chapter six, then hit a glitch.  Although I have an outline, and going full steam ahead in the story the winter blues can set me into a funk thus creating a creativity block.  Very much like a writer's block, or a case where I would have multiple ideas for scenes come up without a direction for the story.    In this case, I purge.  Change my routine

around.  I read more and take a break.

 

Priorities also came up that were necessary.   Sent our five year old son back to school two days a week as the covid numbers are better.  I dropped him off Monday morning and he walked into school with his backpack, 

with a head nod of "I've got this." He's going to be ok.

Meanwhile our daughter is at virtual homeschool, and she is good to finishing out the last two months of school that way.  She even went to gifted testing this week so it's been very busy.  She is surprisingly doing well and knows this is temporary. Its been a rough year for everyone. In the fall we send both kids back to full school as we are on the downward trend of this pandemic.

The story is changing things around as scenes that are coming through my mind, so need to freewrite them out.  I've got my main character on his quest, and he's going to pick up four more characters along the way so it's a navigating when/how they appear.  Four man army compared to his track record of leading thousands. I like a challenge, surely.

I know how it's going to end.  His villain will be defeated, but there's some damage he's going to do before all is said and done.  Just like a bridge that has supports, the novel needs its supports to the plot and subplots along the way.  Some things are easier said than done.  Or written.

What are you doing tonight?  I am looking over the printed chapter six and some freewriting is in store tonight to clear up the static. So much creativity, looking forward to a good night tonight.  Are you painting or creating something totally different? Share it with us.

       

1313 Beatnik Lane

 

Previous  Cambris and Queenie accompany a nervous Bigmon into the Munsters sim. 

A bare chamber was suddenly the Munsters living room. It rocked to the Standells performing their song "Do The Ringo", with hipsters dancing or camped out everywhere.

Cambris spoke above the din. "This is your sleep-friendly environ? What feverish musing has the machine picked from your mind?"

"I think I got it!" Bigmon sought the figure he figured responsible, a bearded man in Aristotle garb and sandals. "The poet! I must have been thinking about how you're a slick poet yourself."

Queenie's goldtone face regarded the show's principals, who were just as bewildered by the hubbub. "The Munsters. Will you engage with them?"

A girl wearing a ton of necklaces spotted them. "Hey, everybody, some new cats just blew in! What a wild bunch!" She frowned at Bigmon's button-down look. "Except for you, Mister Man. You look all Establishment, you know?"

"Cambris!" Bigmon cast about for rescue. "Where did she wander off to?"

"To the alcove," Queenie said, "enraptured by the full-length mirror."

Bigmon eased through the crowd. "So what? The Munsters didn't have any trick mirrors she won't reflect in." The way Cambris stared at the glass began to worry him. "She's so gorgeous, she even wows herself!" 

"You will explain this," Cambris demanded. "The Stygian engine cannot see me. How has it created my image in the glass?"

"Analyzing." Which took Queenie a microsecond. "The flooring detects your weight, and pairs with it a corresponding image drawn from the agent man's memory."

Another bearded groover, this one in a peacoat, grinned at Queenie. "Too much! What's your gig, sister?"

Queenie scanned him with laser vision, causing his image to briefly distort. "Your stack register is sub-optimized, causing a deleterious lag in refresh rate."

"Ha ha! Hey, you know I'm into your act, and I can't even follow it! Can't wait to hear you recite!"

By now, the Munsters had spotted the sideshow. Lily came to offer an elegant hand to Bigmon. "J B! It's so good to see you again! I'm sorry about all this going on."

"It's my fault," Herman allowed, stomping over to join them. "I couldn't resist fifteen hundred for renting the place for the evening."

Grandpa scowled. "Herman, ya big dope! Aren't you gonna introduce me?" He ogled Cambris. "I am Count Dracula, my dear."

"You are Count Dracula?" Cambris let slip a view of fang tips. "That is the most spurious--"

Bigmon leaned close. "Don't queer this for us. We're here to find a quiet place to crash, maybe start a lucid dream."

"Such lovely fangs!" Lily enthused. "Who's your dentist?"

As the band finished up, one wag called out: "Quiet, everybody! The Hermit is gonna groove us!"

Twin bongo drums laid down the mood when the Hermit leveled his intense gaze at them. "In that vortex of the future--" Several stanzas later, the crowd applauded with gusto.

Bigmon knew what was coming next. Necklace Girl was going to shout Let's hear from the Jolly Green Giant! But an impish impulse led him to waylay her. "My lady friend here is quite the poet."

"Let's hear from Lady Dracula!" the girl shouted.

Both Lily and Cambris started reluctantly forth.

"No, no," the girl said. "That one!" Meaning Cambris. She looked at Queenie for possible material. "You're awfully quiet, honey. What's your hangup?"

"Hangup," Queenie repeated. "The noun form of the barnyard adjective 'hung up'. I am queen of the Bot Star Empire. As you do not exist, you cannot be bottified."

"I get it! You're into Flash Gordon!" 

Cambris responded to Bigmon putting her on the spot. "Be not smug, Agent Man. I shall make them see the emptiness of their pretend lives." Bongos heralded her taking center stage.

"Know you not," she began, "how this manse illudes us?" A flourish of drum taps picked up on the sinister tone, briefly throwing her. "Licit lenity withheld by infernal machines." A raised arm denoted the outside world. "Even the theme is betrayed. In yon bone yard where glassine wayfarers mist unbidden, nor bromide bugbears hollow menace, sibilline shade lure beckons impotently within."

Wild applause greeted this, and even the Hermit made a respectful bow.

Peacoat guy whistled and cheered. "Man, that's the best indictment of capitalism I ever heard!"

In the ongoing applause, Bigmon steered Cambris toward the Munsters. "I hate to be pushy, Lily, but I was hoping you had a place for us to crash."

"Oh, certainly! Grandpa will show you to the attic. Some of our deceased relatives might be rattling around." The trio followed the old gent upstairs.

Cambris turned slitted eyes on Bigmon. "Curb your urges, Agent Man. If you dream of Lily or Marilyn, they will not be mere computer blips."

"Oh well." Bigmon shrugged. "What a way to go!"

Interview with the Godfather

 

Dr Berens surveyed the odd trio who insisted on an after-hours interview at his sleep clinic. If he wanted to be facetious, he'd label them the Dracula bride, the Metropolis automaton, and the godfather. The guy even had a pinky ring. 

"Mr Bigmon," Berens began, "I understand you have reservations about the safety of our hologram suites, and feel more at ease with your two. . . .companions."

"You said it, pallie, ever since that Jakers guy got bit on the  neck in the Gilligan's Island gig."

Berens' chest tightened. "May I ask how you came across that privileged information?"

"It is quite simple," said the Bride. "Wicca foresaw these events in her crystal skull."

More suspicious by the moment, this was. Berens didn't even ask about the other woman's cyborg suit. "You understand our price system from the catalog: five thousand per week."

The Bride turned toward Bigmon.  "Can a talent agent afford such frivolity?"

"Oh sure, I guess so." Bigmon hiked broad shoulders. "The feds are throwin' around plenty of monopoly money. I got my share."

"I suspect," the Bride said, "the gold one has a clanking hand in this."

The automation's features never changed. "Of course. When my minions bankrupt the system, they will declare all debt null and void. A digital currency will be put in place, which allows them to decide who eats and who starves." 

"Bogus!" Bigmon tugged at his silk tie. "You've got some imagination, Queenie!"

Berens rose and opened the office door for them. "I'll explain how it works as we head for the Munsters complex." These people were likely industry spies. It wouldn't do them any good, since the quantum code that ran the facility was beyond their reach.

"Can I pick the episode?" Bigmon asked.

"It doesn't work that way. The system scans your synapses to determine your area of interest. A suitable episode is chosen, one conducive to helping your sleep problem."

Along the way, they passed the Gilligan complex. 

"This reminds me," Bigmon said. "I hear that Jakers guy is in the hospital with exhaustion. He must have overdosed on Ginger and Mary Ann. Ha ha! A guy has to know his limits."

Berens made no answer, though the information was once again correct. The spies were well informed. 

"Ginger and Mary Ann indeed," the Bride countered. "They are twin succubi. The same happened to Jakers when one impersonated the Gilligan character."

They had to be playing with him. Berens made a little cough. "That's an amusing theory, Miss Cambris. But the lucid state is a recognized quantity in which dreams take on stark realism.. I suspect Jakers unconsciously inflicted the wounds to his own neck."

"That," Cambris said, "is an amusing theory."

Berens admitted them to the Munsters arrival point, a large space studded with holo-emitters. "When the program starts, you'll be in the living room. Depending on the episode, it may or may not be deserted. The cast is programmed to recognize Mr Bigmon as an old friend. You ladies, I believe, will fit right in."

"Then let's rock," Bigmon said. "There must be plenty of cozy spots to sleep in a mausoleum like that. Cambris--I'm counting on you and Queenie if I get us into a dream situation."

"Trust us," Queenie said, black orbs inscrutable. 

Faces Not in the Mirror

 

Talent agent J B Bigmon paced the studio break room, not sure what worried him most: braving the Quantum Dream Project, or preparing for it with help from two equally dangerous ladies. An android and a vampire, of all things, who never came out of character. He still had no idea what the android chick looked like inside that gold armor. Maybe that was a good thing, since they really threw themselves into their acting. 

Cambris swept in under the late night fluorescents, bearing a tall paper cup. Bigmon marveled at hair so black it sucked lumens out of the room to power its blue sheen. She offered him the cup.

"The beverage you requested, Agent Man. Your producer Ed says 'It's considered fashionable to make the scene with 7-11 coffee'."

"That's only if it's yours," Bigmon said, popping the lid for a sip. "Sure you don't want anything?"

Grey eyes narrowed appraisingly. "I have on this eventide seen to my necessity. I am told you seek my advisement." 

Bigmon opened a bag of chips she regarded with a raised brow. "Still won't eat in public? I gotta admire the whole Shakespeare vampire shtick."

"The what?"

A gold-tone android came in, wearing a black punk 'do. "It denotes a comedy routine with pseudo-Hebrew slang."

"Ahhh!" Bigmon spread arms approvingly. "Queenie, I don't know how you guys did it, but that scrap between you two wrecked the studio. Best ratings week we ever had! But I wanted to rap with you gals before I go traipsing off into Munster land. Only I get a sense you don't get along."

The android definitely had a provocative streak. She raised a mirror which failed to reflect Cambris. But it did draw a hiss and fang show. 

Bigmon guffawed. "How do you do that? It's a trick mirror!"

"I am an impossibility," Cambris informed. "One who is yet is not. Only a living brain can be fooled by my violation of natural law."

"Magic does not exist," Queenie intoned. "I shall duplicate the anomaly." Sure enough, she faded from the mirror. "I have selectively altered the path of light around my form."

"At what cost," Cambris insisted, "to whatever foul brew fuels your gears and springs? Agent Man--retrieve the second glass from yon drawer." Bigmon did as directed, noting the absence of Cambris in both. Queenie, however, reflected in both.

"The effect is necessarily unidirectional," the Bot queen pointed out.

Bigmon grinned. "Then how does Cambris do it? This is high class special effects!" He put the mirrors away. Studying the ladies over his cup, he came to a solution. 

"Look here, ladies--there's a guy who went in the Gilligan's Island holosuite and got bit on the neck. There was this episode where Gilligan turned into a vampire in a dream."

"Silliness," Cambris said.

"Infantile wish fulfillment," Queenie agreed.

Bigmon took a hurried gulp of coffee. "You don't get it. I'd feel safer if all three of us pay a call on the Munsters."

The ladies deigned to look at each other. He had them.

"This is gonna be epic!" Bigmon crowed. "A toast!" He offered Cambris a sip, but she did the fang thing again.