The Bookshelf Academy

Fun little project I did for work. It turned out well, but I knew I was out of practice.

I was listless and uninspired.

I was sitting at my desk in a “Now what?” state of mind. I had just finished a large illustration project for work (a series of illustrations, title page above) , and although I was satisfied with what I had done in the time I had to do it, I felt that I could have done so much more. A large part of it was speed, and to a greater extent, I was severely out of practice.

As I reflected on my past week, I felt a bit empty. I had a vacation coming up which will involve travel, but I know how I am—I get antsy when I’m not doing anything creative. So I sat, paralyzed by the thought of my lack of time, lack of inspiration, and knowing full well I need to put in the hours to get better. “Now what?"

Some backstory: I’m currently in the middle of a personal project—inventorying all of my books. It’s a culmination of 25 years of collecting, and I own quite a bit. I haven’t used many of them. I’m on a long journey toward minimalism and I want to unburden myself with what I haven’t used by selling it all off. I thought to myself, “I sure didn’t get my money’s worth."

Then the internal dialogue started...

Why? Why didn’t I get my money’s worth? I certainly thought there was worth when I found it in the bookstore. I sat with said book for an hour or two after I bought it… what was I hoping I could use it for? After the initial excitement wore off, I would put the book down. They would sit from my small table, then they would accumulate to a stack on the large table, then to unused light table, until it eventually was wedged somehow into my overstuffed bookshelf to gather dust. The intention was fleeting.

I despaired, “Man, if only I could draw as well as these authors that work assignment wouldn’t have been so difficult." Then the thought struck me like a bolt of lightning in the back of my skull: I didn’t put the work into those books in order to get the worth OUT of the book.  It wasn’t the book’s or author’s fault that I didn’t find worth in it—I didn’t investigate it. That puts it all on me because I didn’t fulfill my obligation as a book buyer to put in the hours and USE the book by doing the tutorials and exercises. So many lessons... a repository of knowledge that sits untapped. 

In the tumultuous venture of my life, the obvious USE of the books eluded me. 

 

That was it. I was going to get the book’s worth out of it. Heck, I’m going to get my entire library’s worth out of it. The idea is simple enough: I am going to do the exercises in each book; utilize the book, do the lessons, and not let it go to waste.

Suddenly, I had direction. 

No more sitting around wondering what to draw in the meantime—I have guides now, mentors enshrined on ink-stained paper. I have my own bookshelf academy waiting to be used… an entire university curriculum in three bookcases filled with hundreds of books acquired over 25 years. My personal library is more robust than many small community college libraries. That might be a sad commentary on our society’s value of art in education, but I digress.

I don’t know how well the lessons really are in these. I don’t know if the techniques are sound or not. I do know I will be drawing and discovering. I know I’ll be putting in the time and improving by the very nature of doing. I do know, for whatever they’re worth, I will get the value from what my original intent was.

Going about it.

I’ve been accepted into Bookshelf Academy… great. Now what? I needed to break this down systematically using the typical educational model: course, assignments, and tests. 

Most of the books I have are Instructional Art books: How to Draw People, How to draw comics, how to ink, how to draw sci-fi, how to animate.. on and on. Each book is a course.

One of the things I think that kept me from doing it was my ego. “It’s not going to be my work.” Fair enough- but school had assignments. I needed to shift my thinking- I’m not copying their art, I’m doing an assignment. I can always do it twice- once their way, and once my own way. That is my self imposed assignment.

How do I know it’s working?

I need to find a rubric that would demonstrate how well I absorbed the material. How can I test myself? Well… I’ve always been told that art ability is honest- you know when someone is good or bad by just looking at it.

It’s subjective too… but that’s a whole different ballgame and often tied to the subject itself. A self evaluation is fine, but posting the original art up on boards and getting feedback, and simply posting it on social media and garnering likes… if it gets a lot attention, it’s gotta be good.

This isn’t a perfect way to measure, so it’s a work in progress. Perhaps one of the books has an idea on how to do it. I guess I’ll find out.

Drawing is how I best connect with people

I have lots of interests. I mean A LOT. I love filmmaking- directing, cinematography, screenwriting... I love animation. I love photography- the craft of working with a manual camera, celluloid, and shaping light. And, I love to draw.

It's all cyclical to me. One interest gives way to another during the course of the year. I'll go for long stretches on something than suddenly change, much to the detriment of my career. Luckily, I am now in a position where I am able to be creative, explore and problem solve and have all my interests addressed.

However, the one thing I have noticed that really draws people in (no pun intended) is when I draw. I have very few close artist friends. I occasionally get freelance work, but I prefer to work on my own art at this point and will almost never take a commission. I don't have much personal time, so I'm not likely to give it up for someone else's project. But, it's the best way I can connect with people. They see something that I thought of, something that I felt... and they react to it. I've always been pretty conservative with what I have shown, but I am slowly opening up. I need to open up more.

And, thus, I'm back at it. I admit though that I am a little creatively blocked. One great way is to find local drawing session classes. Some are inexpensive, some are extremely expensive. But being around other artists and feeling that creative energy can really kick start those juices.

I'm at a point in my life where I am looking back, and looking forward and it seems that the distance is the same. It's kind of scary. But I'm not done yet, and I have much to do.

Getting real about wants and needs

As much as I would love the form factor of the Redrock Micro Retroflex-S and the Sony a5100, I need to be pragmatic about where my money is better utilized. The cost for those (including cards, lenses, etc) would cost $1,500. That’s a serious chunk of change, and it’s not including audio. I may indulge at some point, but realistically I need to be more fiscally conservative.


Panasonic’s GH3 has come down in price considerably since the GH4 was introduced a year and a half ago. I’m sure a GH5 is in development… However, for what I need to do in the next year, the GH3 is more than enough camera to handle the needs of my next dozen or so projects- which DP demigod Philip Bloom shows in the video above.

The micro four-thirds sensor is half the size of a full size sensor, but it can use far more lenses- including old cine/tv c-mount glass and Newsie ENG B4 Mount lenses. How cool is that?

More than anything, I want to make a feature length film. I have had a number of attempts, of which I had learned so much… not just about what it takes, but what I can expect from other people. Filmmaking School of Hard Knox.

One of my constant inspirations is Faith Granger, and her feature length film “Deuce of Spades”. She shot her feature on a barebones budget and a lot of favors- and the product looks amazing. She shot on an first generation Sony HD camera, and edited in Sony Vegas.

The greatest thing about this movie is her passion for the project. Finding the right project to immerse yourself in can be challenging, but sometimes the project finds you. That's true art.

It's ALIVE!! or "Motion Portrait Funtime Playness"

Two posts in one day! What's this world coming to?!?

There was a trend (that didn't last long, I might mention) on Instagram where artists were using the app Motion Portrait to 'animate' their drawings. I downloaded them and came up with these fun bits:

and this:

It was fun. I had an idea that you could animate some scenes in a sort of DIY cartoon using this app. I might as an experiment, but for right now it's nothing more than a novelty. An addictive novelty, though.

Ideas are ethereal

Ideas are ethereal. They’re out there. You may be lucky enough to catch it; when you do, it’s your obligation to do something with it. If not, it goes back out into the ether and someone else will catch it sooner or later.

A couple of years ago I had an idea about a near future where the human race was stretching into the solar system. People mostly lived in habitats on the moon, Mars, the asteroid belt and the Jovian moons. I even started a web comic titled “Tales of the Lost Skies” using this very blog’s name.

Tales of the Lost Skies, January 2014

I also had a few stories that I wanted to integrate into it:
Mushroom Moonshine
Ceres Gambit

But, I lost interest. I didn’t develop it, and it slipped out of my fingers.

Today, I watched the online premiere of Syfy’s show “The Expanse”. I loved it. They did a better job with the story as well as the revenue to truly make it an enjoyable show. And, it made me realize that I let that idea slip back into the ether- whether it was even mine to begin with. I make no claim on what they created- it’s just a similar idea and we’re all products of remixes.

My point here is that Ideas are meaningless if they aren’t implemented with passion. My motivation for TOTLS was lukewarm at best. But it made me realize that I need to develop something new and follow through with it so I can claim it as my own.

Check out “The Expanse” on syfy.com or wait for the premiere next month- it’s a fantastic show and I can’t wait to see where it goes!

Life goes on

Well, although we're not to Thanksgiving yet, I wanted to give a retrospective on 2015... it's been a wild ride.

Every year a "theme" presents itself that puts a stamp on it.

In 2011, it was Money- I had spent nearly the entire year chasing a client to pay me for some christmas illustrations I had done for them. Egos clashed and ethics were questioned. I was finally paid (in installments, no less), but the amount of effort it took to get what was owed to me was ridiculous.

2012 was about Career. I love my day job; we have a fantastic team and a solid strategy, but that wasn't the case three years ago. I was dealing with a few characters that made my year there less than ideal, and I dreaded going to work. I was also in a state of trying to decide what to do with my life- I needed direction.

2013 was about Family. It really tore me apart when I lost my dad in January of that year. Although I was his only son, we were polar opposites. He wanted the best for me, but he also tried to relive his youth through me by attempting to get me into boxing and martial arts. His love of movies rubbed off on me. He was often proud of my artwork, but we never really had much in terms of conversation. He had his faults, we never really "clicked" as father and son, but I respect the man and often wonder how he would handle tough situations I find myself in.

2014 was about Health. After I was hospitalized, I meditated on how my health was headed down a dark path. I needed to take care of myself. Two failed attempts at working with some great (but poorly fitted) personal trainers, and then letting it go, I realized again with many older family members health failing that I needed to be proactive. I now have an amazing fitness trainer, and I'm on my way to the lifestyle I had in my 20s.

2015 has been about Illusions. I've had many. One, in particular, was shattered after 10 years of friendship. It's a long story, and a little too personal to share here, but its been a long hard road and now I know that sometimes people's sincerity isn't as real as you had hoped. I guess, what I'm saying, is NEVER take anyone at face value—It's been a problem I've ran into time and time again throughout my life. People will use you, be it innocently or malevolently, people are not interested in you unless you have something to offer them in return. It's fair, I guess... but sometimes you don't get anything in return other than confusion and pain. So, this large illusion has been shattered. I'm better for learning it and surviving, but it's been very hard to come to terms with.

The other illusion is about belief. Faith, upbringing, and "truths" you are educated with are all subjective by those who have control over you. You become hardwired, and frankly that's what's causing so much ruckus across the world. I'm not getting into any sort of religious thing here, but I've decided to take a more critical thinking sort of approach to life- sort of anti-empirical; there is no "truth", just points of view. And, is there really a truth anyway? Can things really exist without being observed? They just are, but have no consciousness or form? Take a drawing- it is just graphite or ink splayed on a paper... but it's our perception that makes it representative of something- and there needs to be an experience to make it "real" in someone's head. That last part is magic... but sometimes magic can be bad.

SO, because of some major personal rewiring, I've been away as I've sorted things out. I've experimented with game design (which had gotten me into graphic design in the first place) and studied sailing (which making it a lifestyle is some ways off). As always, I come back full-circle to what I am: an artist. I am drawing again... the one thing that gives me peace.

In the end, whether you learn to survive it or not, life goes on, and all you can do is pick yourself up and start over. The trick is to learn from those mistakes and challenges, and try to do better next time.

One Ring to Fix the Zoom

Minolta Autopak-8 K11

I was a little disappointed when I got my Minolta Autopak-8 k11 a couple of weeks ago. It worked, but marginally. Cosmetically it looked good, but there was a ring at the base of the lens that seemed to jam the auto zoom mechanism and the zoom lever was missing. It took a bit of brute strength to change the lens angle... which all but made the camera useless.

I got to fiddling with the dang thing yesterday. I popped the ring off with a small screwdriver and managed to re-mount it on the lens base correctly. It took care of the jam—now the auto zoom and zoom lever work freely and the camera functions exactly like it should. I shot some footage with it on some Kodak Tri-X. I'm waiting to expose the other roll with the BH Microstar Z I'm getting later this week, and then I'll send them in together and compare. Hopefully all will work great.

After fixing the zoom, I detailed it. The camera was dirty with finger smudges and some old grime. It's a solid piece of work- made out of metal. It's also heavy. I wish the f1.8 lens was faster- I really want to put it to work in some low light situations especially since it has a 24fps setting. It seems to be in good shape and I'm looking forward to using it as one of my main cameras.

Humble Pie

Being humbled is never easy.

It’s great to know that I write compelling stories, but it’s better to know I need to work on story structure, character arcs, and, well, putting a sentence together.

It’s the opportunity to look at my previous work with a more critical eye. It’s easy to become complacent in anything you do- whether it be writing, drawing, or keeping up the yard. We tend to look for the easy way out, and to look for things we find familiar. When the familiar draws us, we get stuck into patterns and years pass by without anything of value to show.

I am planning some major changes in my life... some pretty severe ones. As you know, I’m trying to get back into filmmaking, but talking and dreaming isn't enough. There are no excuses to NOT PICK UP THE CAMERA AND BEGIN SOMETHING.

I came across a few ideas online, and the one that really lit the long idle tinder was a site devoted to one-minute short films called Filminute. What can you do in a minute? Well, look at any commercial- they do it in thirty seconds. So, in the interest in not getting caught up in a large production and just the simple act of getting a move on, I’m going to do a series of one-minute shorts with as high production value as I can get out of them.

My near future plans include a couple of mini-shorts (1 to 3 minutes), the Salt Lake City 48 Hour Film Project competition in June, and a longer short film later in the summer. I do have a few feature film script ideas I’d like to explore and perhaps even begin pre-production this fall- it depends on which script pulls me in the most.

Upward and onward!

Production Week Two: A day at the Crowfoot's

Wow. All I can say is wow. I will get to why in a minute.

We covered quite a bit of unusual set ups today. Crowfoot is a widower, so we needed to generate memories today through home video. The actors improv-ed all the home video footage and actually handled the camera themselves.

With that, we had 2 set ups at the park with Allison McGowan (Nadine Crowfoot) and Laron Wilson (Joseph Crowfoot), and 2 at “Frank & Rosie’s” house. Here we see (from the left) Kayla Maestas (Kayla Crowfoot), Niki Pace (Rosie Crowfoot) and Allison McGowan enjoying a break during set prep for the upcoming night scenes.

After lunch, two of the scenes were night scenes, so we draped off the windows. The scenes were far more formal since they were scripted. As you can see by the pictures, no easy feat! Brian Gerber, from One World Media Productions played spider-man by draping off this kitchen window which is a good 15 feet up. Helping him was our 1st AD Todd McGowan, making sure he didn’t fall (folks, don’t try this at home!). Looking on was Corinne Maestas, the director’s (my) daughter - who is one of Joseph Crowfoot‘s four nieces.

Laron Wilson and Albert Huerta (Frank Crowfoot) playing brothers, rehearse their lines, and the scene was extremely tender. The temp today was in the high ninety’s, and we had no real ventilation with the windows being taped off and we had to keep the air-conditioning off because of sound. So everyone was so professional and really pushed it beyond any limit we could have hoped for.

Amazing day. The children were fantastic and very natural. The actors, what can I say… with the quality of performance I’ve seen, we’re on our way to a very great movie. Plus, it was fun. Extremely fun.

Thank you to everyone who has come out- Haley Pardo (Haley Crowfoot), and her mother Heather Taylor- what fantastic people. Haley is quite talented, so don’t be surprised to see her become famous some day, and Heather pitched right in to help with so much of the behind the scenes stuff and for toughing out the rough scenes. Quite extraordinary to be sure.

Thank you to Allison McGowan for her charm, wit and inventiveness, Katherine Joan Taylor for her flair and complete immersion into her role, Niki Pace for her gracefulness and incredible sense of timing, Albert Huerta for his tender-heartedness and the ability to bring forth an empathy like no other, Laron Wilson for his utmost professionalism - man you rock!, my three daughters Kayla, Corinne and Sarah, who amazed everyone with how natural they were and how willing they were to take direction and have fun with the long day.

A great big huge thanks to the crew- Tracy Smith for his steady experience and guiding hand, Brian Gerber for his ingenuity and daring-do (and for using his head- literally- see right), Todd McGowan for his humorous tenacity and willingness to do the dirty jobs, Jennie Finlayson for her enthusiasm and willingness to do the mundane jobs, and last, and certainly not least, my wife Charlotte Maestas for feeding the crew, baby-wrangling, set-prep and putting up with me :) and she did this all with only four hours of sleep.

And with that, wow.

We had a scheduling change, so there will be no shoot next week. Our next shoot is the office scene on August 19th.

J.Maestas
Writer/Director "Corner of the Mind's Eye"
Lost Skies Productions/Black Hawk Entertainment
http://www.lostskies.com

Writing Prompt #19: Unexpected Reunion

The GTO started sputtering when Jack was ten miles out from Bakersfield. At five miles, it died. After he pushed it to the side of the road he lit a cigarette and looked around. Up ahead he saw an old Vanagon. Curious, he grabbed his empty gas can and a short rubber hose, and started hiking.

No cars. Figures. Not that he’d want to deal with anyone right now. Probably for the best.

He checked the Vanagon doors. Locked. He pulled out his trusty sparkplug and shattered the driver’s side window- and quickly tried to force the stench of beer and sweat out of his nose. Great, some homeless guy’s shelter, he thought. He looked around, no keys, so he stripped the steering column and hotwired it. The Vanagon refused to turn over. Jack coughed a laugh—the idiot seized the engine. But, the battery worked and it looked like he had a decent amount of gas. He decided he’ll top off the gallon and bring the car back and finish tapping this thing.

Jack hates sucking out gas. He’s good at it, but the fumes take forever to leave your mouth. Not the best time to light up a cigarette either- seeing his buddy Toby lose his face is a lesson you never forget.

He filled up the can and then rifled quickly though the Van for anything else. Nothing worth taking. That was that, he headed back to his ride.

After going back and getting the GTO, he emptied the Van’s tank and took off towards Bakersfield. Not one living soul drove by.

The taste in Jack’s mouth was really bothering him, spitting didn’t help. As he drove up he saw an old truckstop diner. No one will bother him there, and maybe he can wash up, too. He pulled in and quickly strode inside catching a quick glimpse of who was in there- two old truckers, some dirty kid and a strung out stripper on the counter phone, and the cook in the back washing some dishes.

Oh good, some shower stalls that take two dollars to open. No point in trying to outsmart this. He reluctantly paid and took a fast shower. He shaved quickly, leaving a Van Dyke.

Ten minutes later the scene hadn’t changed. He walked to the back booth and a skinny waitress he hadn’t seen before stumbled up with a pot. Her fake eyelashes looked like spiders resting on her cheeks.

“Coffee?” She yawned.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack replied.

“You from Texas?” She smiled.

“Louisiana. Baton Rouge.”

Just then the greasy young kid looked back at him. He looked straight back- to which the kid turned away.

“Long way from home. Get you anything to eat, sugah?”

“I could go for a burger and fries.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Jack pulled out his beaten copy of Louis L’amour’s Shalako. It passed the time and provides good cover. The waitress came back with his order.

“Here you go, doll.” She looked at the book, “Hey, I’ve seen that movie.”

“Yeah, it’s a good one.”

“Can I get you anything else.”

“Actually,” Jack pulled out a letter, “Can you tell me how to get to Sutton Street?”

The stripper, turned around and eyed him.

“Jack?” She asked.

Jack looked up and his heart jumped out of his chest. “April?”

Before he could get up, April had knocked over the waitress and came after him with a steak knife.

Writing Prompt #18: Haystack Landing

Carver’s head throbbed as if an entire stampede had run over it. No more drinking. Ever. He then reached for his flask and finished off his Jim Beam.

As he sat up with a juicy belch, he rubbed his jaw and wiped the sleep from his eyes. The sheep called in the distance, and a few hens clucked around his feet. At least he landed in a haystack… but he had no clue where the haystack was. He looked around and spotted his motored bi-glider. P.B.'s not going to be happy, but everything seemed to be in order.

“’Bout time you woke up, Mister.” A young woman’s voice called behind him. Carver turned around to see blonde curls framing the most watery blue eyes he had ever seen. The rest of her weren’t bad, neither—except for the shotgun she pointed at him.

“Look, I’m sorry, Miss…?” No response. “I’m sorry, ma’am. If there’s any damage, I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh, you’ll pay! You’ll pay alright!” The woman screeched as she took aim and cocked the shotgun.

Writing Prompt #17: Desert Dead

Lt. Montano wasn’t in the mood for games. Thirty-three hours of coffee and a gas station hot dog has barely been his fill. He would have give up his pension for a cot and two years of sleep. That wasn’t going to happen, not today at least. Good thing Oliver was driving out to the scene… maybe he could just rest his eyes for a minute.

“Lieutenant!” Oliver was standing outside the passenger door. Montano’s eyes snapped open and looked over at the rookie. “We’re here, sir.”

“Good.” He gets out and stretches, and puts on his sunglasses. The desert sun was especially bright today, only 7:30am and it would soon be soaring into triple digits. As he walked over, stepping over the scrub and a rattler that surprised him, he approached the crime scene. He ducked under the police tape and walked up to the victim’s half eaten corpse. He’d seen worse out here, but the fact that she was so young made his blood run cold.

The medical examiner pulled out the needle from the cavity by her liver. He jots down some notes on a clipboard, pushed up his glasses and stood up. Jates has been around since Montano’s dad was on the force, a permanent fixure, one of the best.

“Jates.” Montano steps up behind him.

“Lieutenant. She’s been dead about eight hours. I’m surprised the coyotes didn’t finish her off.”

“Probably the campers that spotted her. Any identification?”

Jates shook his head and starts cleaning up his kit.

“No. But she has the same carving on her chest”

Montano looked around and noticed the tire tracks that lead off back to the road.

“Oliver- get some plaster on these tracks… you know the drill.” He turned around to see Jates sitting on his kit, cleaning his glasses.

“This is the sixth one in as many days, Ramon.”

Montano puts his hat back on and headed back to the SUV.

Writing Prompt #16: Double Double Cross

Ice-cold water woke me, allowing me the pleasure of feeling the axe that pierced my brain. Oh, it’s not an axe? Just where that bastard managed to have me hit the corner of the Goose’s radio when he rolled the plane, you say? That’s right… ouch. A musky blindfold blocked out most of what I could see, but I could feel my chest was strapped to a chair with a thick belt and wrists were bound behind my back. I was surprised that my legs weren’t secured, All in all, it felt like a hasty job.

Another bucket of the Himalaya’s finest ice cold spring hit me full on in the face. This time I shivered and was wide awake. “Where am I?!” I coughed. I started working at my bonds immediately.

A fist grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. It was Meang.

“You've become a thorn in my side, Yankee! I should have slit your throat when I had the chance!”

I coughed and spat. “If there’s mouthwash is in those crates, help yourself to it.”

I could see Meang’s silhouette raise a hand to backhand me when a bark came from behind him. He shuffled backwards to the wall. Still working at the ropes, I managed to loosen them a bit more.

Lithe fingers danced across my shoulders. A long leg came over and stradled my lap and luscious lips plunged down onto mine.

“Meang, I sure hope that wasn’t you.” I snorted.

The blinding overhead lamp light burnt my eyes as the blindfold was ripped from my head. She had locks of long blond hair, the tip of her tongue on her top lip twisted into a wicked smile, sultry eyes beckoning down on me.

“I should have known,” I huffed. “Grace Harlow. You and your cronies dealing arms now?”

She slapped me good across the kisser. Then she plunged another kiss, only to follow it up with another slap hard enough for me to see stars.

Grace squeezed my cheeks with one hand, and came in very close.

With a rhythmic beat, she tapped on my nose. “You. Cause. Me. So. Much. Trouble. Carver. It’s getting to be that a girl can’t have fun with you sniffing around.”

“Listen honey,” Time to turn on the ol’ charm, “I don’t care what you do with those peashooters. Just let me and my buddy go and we’ll gladly get out of your hair.”

“That won’t be necessary,” a gruff voice came out behind me. I turned and looked.

“Reggie!” I couldn’t believe my eyes! Then… I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Aww… Regg, tell me you aren’t in with this rabble.”

“Sorry, Carver.” Reggie hobbled on a crutch and sat down on a crate. “Business is still business.”

"Greed is greed." I countered.

Grace was still on my lap when my bonds fell. I grabbed her and threw her into a strangle hold.

“Untie me!”

“Reggie!” Grace coughed.

“I’ll brake her neck! I mean it!” I screamed.

Reggie and Meang laughed. He gestured for them to leave. Just as Reggie was out the door he turned.

“Go ahead. She’s given us what we need.”

“You!” Grace wheezed a grunt. With a blow of a kiss, Reggie closed the heavy steel door with a lock. With that, the crate Reggie was standing against fell open, and a sleeping Siberian Tiger began to stir.

I let Grace go.

“Untie me! Untie me!”

With a snap to attention, the Siberian looked up and glared at us with hungry eyes.

Writing Prompt #15: Ceres Gambit

Sweat, spice, and cold damp rock assaulted Tula’a nose when she and her boss, Brock, stepped out of the Ravenclaw’s airlock. A low hum of voices came from below, Tula’a peered down over the walk way onto the merchants who swarmed like ants around ramshackle stands, desperately trying to hawk their wares. 

Brock pointed at them, “It’s mid-wake down in the Bazaar. Everybody’s scramblin’ to sell. More are scramblin’ to lift—so keep a feel on your belt items.”

The buzz and flashing colors of the Bazaar was dizzying.

 “You sure know how to pick them, Brock.” Tula’a gagged as she put her nose into the crook of her elbow.

“The juicy warrants are in maggot-holes like this one. I’m certain they passed this way.” Brock’s confidence waned, “But first thing’s first—let’s get to the dock master and see if Zeb’s ship is still here.”

After a quick discussion with Ceres’ dock master, primed by a handful of rupees, they headed down to the quiet lower docks. They managed to find Zeb’s ship in the dark catacomb structure.

“Funny. The dock master forgot to mention the magnetic impound.” Tula’a noticed. She then rubbed her hand across the side of Zeb’s ship and looked at her palm. “Heh. Mold. This tub’s been sittin’ for a long while.”

“No doubt Zeb was down on his luck, but sitting that long is unusual for him.” Brock rubbed his jaw. Then something twitched out of the corner of his eye and he yanked out his blaster.

“Down!” Brock barked as he dove on Tula’a, pushing them both behind a crate. A blaster bolt sent a chunk of molten metal and sparks right where they were standing. Brock stuck his blaster up and fired blindly, only to hear footsteps running away. Brock jumped out and started trailing.

 “Stay here! This might not be Zeb!”

“Brock! Wait!”

Tula’a watched Brock disappear past the corridor. She then slumped back to the floor with a huff. Just as she pulled out her blaster to check the safety, she noticed a limp hand out from behind a crate.

Brock was in full gallop behind the interloper. He wasn’t going to let this deadbeat get the best of him. As he rounded the corner he tripped into a full stop, nearly knocking down a merchant that was carrying a stack of kitchen pots. He was back on the opposite end of the Bazaar. He strained to look over the sea of bobbing heads, but his quarry vanished.

“Tula’a’s right, this place reeks.” He muttered. He pulled back his sleeve and spoke into his wristcomm. “Tula’a? You there, chica?”

“Yep. Loud and clear. You get him?” Tula’a’s voice crackled through the tiny speaker.

“Lost him in the crowd.”

“I think you better come back here. I found something.”

Brock and Tula’a stood over Zeb’s body.

“Those don’t look like blast wounds.” Tula’a mused.

“They’re not. They’re bites.”

“Bites?!”

“Yeah,” Brock rubbed his jaw, “We interrupted feeding time.”

Writing Prompt #14: Soul Toll

Warning: Strong Language

 

Tens of thousands of fans hopped in unison like the waves of a boiling ocean. The roar of their screams was deafening, the worship these four received would have made many kings and prophets writhe with jealousy.

The lights went low, and a lone spotlight shown down onto a lone figure. His voice was mesmerizing- an outstretched hand landed on the chorus, he knew he had them- his fans, his adoring fans. He could have any one of them, all he had to do was pick them out of the crowd.

His eyes brushed the crowd as he crooned with Izzy’s riff. The tempo fired up and he was whipping them up into a frenzy. Sweat and pheromones frothed at his orgiastic thumping and moaning- again, he looked out at the crowd, squealing girls, screaming guys. They were all in love with him. Except one. She stood there, staring with a dead look in her eyes.

He couldn’t blame her. Maybe he was too much. But her stare was a little unnerving.

He went across the stage but all he could do was see her out of the corner of his eye. He repeated a verse- Izzy and Groanman looked at each other and kept playing Izzy walked over to him to see what’s what.

He kept singing. Damn it. Why is she looking at him this way? It’s pissing him off.

Izzy’s guitar solo.

He walked over to security and told them to get rid of that girl.

“What girl, sir?”

“HER!” he pointed, but she was gone. Well, fucking good.

A wave of nausea overtook him and he barfed right on the security muscle. A few of the stage managers ran over, as well as his agent. He vomited again- this time it’s bloody. He looked down, chunks of something, sharp pain.

The stage hand carried him to his dressing room. He thanked the favor by punching him in the face when he stumbled in.

“Don’t fucking touch me! Leave me alone!”

He scrambled to the toilet and vomited again. It’s worse. His tooth fell out.

He ran some water in the sink. He looked in the mirror. It’s her.

When the news covered his death the next day, the band’s spokesman said that a lethal cocktail of alcohol and prescription medication was accidentally ingested on an empty stomach. When a reporter piped up asking of this had to do with the unseemly rumors of his role in the rape and murder of a young 15 year old girl last year in Omaha, they immediately shut down the press conference. In the back, the expressionless girl starred back at the band.