Project 33: I Have a Little Music Box

I have a little music box
Of wood and brass and tin.
The outside's gotten rotted,
But it's beautiful within.

The lustrous wood is gray now,
The varnish worn away,
But the music's just as lovely
As though it were built today.

Though the case is broken,
The mechanism's true.
I have a little music box.
I'll play a song for you.

I miss my iPad. But I still have my pens, and I still have my paper, so the creative process continues.

These Old Bones

Anybody else in need of a nap today?

Ride 'Em, Cthulhu Girl!

YEE-HAW! Cthulhu fhtagn!

Not Falling Anymore

Man, I've been drawing a whole lot lately. I've started to get that stagnating feeling again when it comes to my artwork, so I've been kicking up the effort to get a lot more done. Plus, it keeps me off the streets. Drawing is my anti-drug.

I've also been drawing a lot of cutesy girls rescuing guys lately. I showed this picture to a friend, and she asked if I wanted someone to come and save me. Not sure what to make of that... but the answer is probably "yes."

BONUS PICTURE:

One of the ways I've been trying to break out of the stagnating slump is by experimenting with hatching and cross hatching a lot more, an experiment necessitated by the death of all my broad-tipped black markers. Shading in all those dark areas is TOUGH without a big fat marker. Hatching is... actually a lot more work, but the result's usually pretty good.

Poplar Hill

Hipsters welcome.

Back to Schooled

You know what I miss?

Back to school shopping.

It's been YEARS since I've actually needed to go shopping for school supplies and stuff... probably because it's been years since I've been to school. I took an evening art class last fall, sure, but that doesn't count. Heck, I didn't even get to buy new folders for my Trapper Keeper.

Shoot, do they even MAKE Trapper Keepers anymore?

Even when I was a kid, back when I actually hated clothes shopping, I still liked having new clothes for the first day of school. I always thought I looked so dapper. Of course, "dapper" wasn't really a good look for a kid of ten years old, so I still got picked on. Darn you, orange-striped polo shirts!

Even when I'd moved off to college, when "back to school" shopping meant buying textbooks, I found I actually enjoyed the process. Since I was an English major, "textbooks" were actually just a bunch of novels and poetry books. I spent at least as much money on books as a bunch of the math majors I knew, but I got nearly twenty times the number of books. No joke - one semester, I got thirty six books for the same price as the one massive textbook my comp-sci roommate had to get for a single class. It was pretty awesome.

Sadly, I no longer have the excuse of a first day of school to get me out the door to buy new books, clothes, and supplies. Yet I still get the same thrill from filling a shopping cart with pencils and notebooks. I still relish the sensation of freshly-ironed denim against my skin. I still thrill at the thought of dropping $200 on a bunch of books I've never heard of before.

Maybe I'll go back to school shopping anyway.

Project 32: One Day the Devil Gon' Come (THE LOST PROJECT)

This is going to go down in history as the lost story of S.R. Braddy. See, I almost didn't write the story at all. I actually thought the picture was plenty strong on its own, but after I wrote the caption, I just had all these similar ideas and phrases pop into my head, so I had to keep writing them. Eventually, it evolved into this killer noir-sort of story... and then I lost my iPad with the only draft of the story in existence. I COULD re-write it... but I don't want to. I have to replace the OTHER three drafts that I lost.

The sketch itself came about from an attempt to draw a slightly more realistic face than I usually do - one with lines, scars, and wrinkles. The finger shape was particularly important to me, for some reason. I had so much fun with this picture that I actually drew a "sequel image"... which I wound up posting first. Go figure.

Raspberry

Music for Motivation

Life has been... a little challenging lately. Stresses at work have made the usual Monday to Friday grind a bit grindier than usual. So, when face with a difficult situation, I have turned, as I'm wont to do, to entertainment for comfort. This time around, though, I've looked to (listened to?) music a bit more, and that's managed to get me through most days.

The musical How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying has one of the most impractical titles I've ever seen, but the music's nice. When I'me feeling down at work (ESPECIALLY at work), I pull out "I Believe in You," and everything gets a little shinier.

I have the Harry Potter Daniel Radcliffe version on my iPad, but the performance I love the most comes from the movie adaptation with Robert Morse.

I've always been the type to tear up when a movie or TV show teaches a moral that somehow directly applies to my current situation. The first season of The Legend of Korra ends with a doozy: When we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change." The music from the soundtrack at that point helps to drive the message home, and I've played it more than once when things get hard.

Yes, I have the soundtrack to a children's show on my iTunes. Does that even surprise anyone anymore?

Sometimes, you need a little motivation of a different kind. When I'm feeling like I'm so bogged down with trouble that I can't even fantasize about the good life anymore, I remind myself that "With a Little Bit of Luck" it'll all work out.

My Fair Lady goes from being my favorite musical to my most-hated in the last thirty seconds of the show. The ending's that bad. The music's pretty nice throughout, though, and this number in particular is just so infectiously fun that I can't help but smile.

When even the thought of driving to work is horrid, I like a little bit of metal to motivate me. Danish metal does it best, and right now there's no metal Danishier than Volbeat's "A Warrior's Call"... which I'm pretty sure is all about MMA.

I drive angry. I like to drive angry. You know how runners will sometimes listen to rockin' music to get through their exercise routine? My thing's a lazier version of that.

Lastly, there are some days when you just need to motivate yourself into complete idleness. For those days, there's nothing like a little Otis Redding and "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay." If I listen to metal on the way in to work, this is the music that plays during the homeward bound commute. Mmm-boy, can't beat it.

So what are your most motivational songs?

Cooking with Braddy: Skinny Mac and Alfredo

Healthy eating is a bit of a crock sometimes. The trick isn't to add more veggies and whole grains and whatever else. No, it's just "replace all the dairy with lo-fat dairy!"

If only...

I opted to try this dish from the Skinny Moms Blog because it looked like it'd be quick and easy. Some nights I just don't have a couple hours to cook. I want something I can throw together, pop in the oven, and be done with it. This... wasn't exactly the right dish for that goal set - even if pre-made, bottled pasta sauce is one of the key ingredients. The whole thing still took me about an hour, although I imagine a good chef coulda probably knocked it out in about half the time.

Also - what's the deal with adding a single egg to mac and cheese? This is the second recipe that I've seen that adds an egg from nowhere to the mix. The final product has a good texture, though, so I guess I won't question it much.

I think it's a rule somewhere that casseroles have to look gross. They just have to. Every time I make a casserole, it always tastes good, but, man, if I were a four year old, I wouldn't eat this thing even after picking out all the slimy green things.

Here's to being a grown-up boy with a grown-up palate.

Project 31: Love Like Joan Jett

They call her The Amazon, but that's no surprise.  Five foot eleven, hair like a whip, and thighs like sledgehammers.  Any girl like that gets called The Amazon.  But it's not just a nickname.  They don't call her anything else, and there's not another name that would possibly fit.  Most people forget to call her Ashley Ricks.  She's just The Amazon, and that name means something.  Fierce loyalty to her friends, bloody vengeance upon her enemies, and a voice...

"He's doing WHAT?!?!"

...that can drown a river.

It's the big Spring Social - Westbrooke High's fundraiser for the straggling summer sports that often go unnoticed by a student body sweating in anticipation for summer break.  The Amazon is there, never one to abandon a fellow athlete, and right now her friend Cassie is trying to figure out how to talk her down.

"It's not a big deal," Cassie says.  "There's a ton of other guys who are lining up to ask you to the spring formal.  You'll definitely get to go."

"Of course I'll go!  I'd go by myself if I had to - and don't think I wouldn't, either."

Not for a minute does Cassie think that she wouldn't.

"I just...  I just can't be-LIEVE it!"

"Careful, Ammy," Cassie says (she calls her "Ammy" for short).  "You might want to keep your voice down.  People are starting to stare."

"Like they've never seen a teen girl get hysterical at a school function before."  Ammy raises the plastic cup of punch to her lips and swallows angrily.

"But they've never seen you get this hysterical," Cassie says.  "What's going on?"

"We just..." The Amazon struggles for words.  When she finds them, she can barely let them out, and that once tyrannical voice shifts suddenly to meekness.  "I thought he liked me."

Cassie can barely close her mouth.  "What?  You and Trevor?  You like him?"

"Of course I like him," Ammy says.  "I told you I did."

"You said you went out.  You didn't say that you loved him or anything."

"I said I had a great time.  I thought he did, too."

"But it was one date," Cassie says, trying to voice reason while still making sense of things in her head.  "For crying out loud, Ammy, he's the president of the Future Farmers of America.  He's nowhere near in your league."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better about him taking Trish to the formal instead?"

Cassie studies her friend closely.  For a teenager, Cassie has a remarkable sense of empathy.  Sometimes she thinks that she alone understands that the world does not revolve solely around her, an understanding that makes her immensely proud.  She sees the rigid anger in Ammy's eyes - but not so rigid after all.  There's a fluttering around the eyelids, and a faint twitching of the nose.

"You really like him?" she asks.

The Amazon sighs.  The twitching has stopped, as if it was never there.  "I guess that was silly."

"Well, no," Cassie says.  "Trevor's a cute guy.  Pretty well-built from all that time he spends hauling hay."

"Dumb as a cow," The Amazon says.

"You're perfect for each other."

The Amazon laughs.  It's a good sign - she's listening.  Cassie presses on.

"Does he know you had a good time?"

"He should.  I told him so."

"How did you tell him?"  Goodnight hug?  Kiss?  Rub his leg under the table at dinner?"

"Stop it," Ammy says.  "I just told him."

"But were you honest with him?  You can't be subtle with guys like Trevor.  You've got to come out and say what you feel, and that means you've got to let yourself be..."  Cassie hesitates.

"Spit it out."

"...vulnerable."

That was it - spoken lightly, just a puff of air, the word hung daintily in the air like a down feather.  The Amazon stopped moving, stopped nibbling nervously at the rim of her plastic cup, stopped picking at a nonexistent stain on the knee of her jeans.  All time seemed to stop with her.  Cassie waited.

Then, with a sigh, The Amazon speaks.  "I'm not good at vulnerable."

Cassie hadn't realized she was chewing on her bottom lip.  She released it gladly as time started to flow again.  "No one is," Cassie says.

"Lots of people are," Ammy says.  "Most people live in vulnerability, because they're too scared to try to cover it up.  I'm not like that."  She stares off into the distance and says nothing more for a while.  Cassie ducks her head, almost reverentially, almost prayerfully.

The Amazon speaks again.  "There he is."  

She points, and Cassie follows the long finger.  Trevor stands next to the punchbowl on the opposite end of the park, just outside the karaoke tent.  Cassie touches her friend's arm.  "You know, I don't think he's actually asked her yet.  You can still tell him."

Ammy shakes her head.  "I'm not good at vulnerable."  Yet she takes a few steps towards the karaoke tent.  Trevor is still there, talking to one of the Great Unrecognizable.  His back is to the approaching girls.  Music starts to play from inside the tent - Sonny and Cher.  Ammy falters.

"I'm not doing this," she says.  "Not like this."  She quickens her stride and moves right past Trevor.  He sees her go and waves, but she doesn't notice.

Cassie follows her friend into the karaoke tent.  She finds the Amazon has pushed her way to the very front, where she flips through the plastic-sleeved pages of the track listing.

"What are you doing?" Cassie says.

"When you fight," Ammy says, "you don't attack from a place of weakness.  Find your strength, lead with it.  Rely on it."

Cassie clears her throat, not wanting to bring up the obvious.  But compassion compels her to say, "You don't sing."

"Sometimes it's not about the voice as much as it's about the song that's sung."  Ammy turns another page.

"What?"

"I can SO sing," Ammy says.  She writes her name on the line.  "Five minutes, and then I'm up.  Wait here."  She runs back out of the tent.  Cassie follows.  

She lifts the flap and sees The Amazon link arms with Trevor, lean in towards his ear, and whisper something.  She pulls Trevor away from his friend.  The Future Farmer of America manages some sort of excuse before he is yanked bodily into the tent, right past Cassie, and directly to the front row.  The two stand together in awkward silence while one of the school's most insufferable couples squeaks out the last few notes to the love theme from Footloose.  Some insincere applause, and then, without so much as a word to Trevor, The Amazon has taken to the stage, microphone in hand.  Drums beat through the speakers, and The Amazon speaks:

"You listening?"

Dumbly, Trevor nods.  From the back, cheers and catcalls.  A few fists pump when the guitars come in, and then Ammy sings.

Midnight gettin' uptight Where are you 

You said you'd meet me now it's quarter to two 

I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you 

Hey Jack It's a fact they're talkin' in town 

I turn my back and you're messin' around 

I'm not really jealous don't like lookin' like a clown

Cassie blushes.  She's letting her empathy get the better of her, and she can't help but feel embarrassed for her her friend, who now shamelessly belts into the microphone

I think of you every night and day

You took my heart then you took my pride away 

But then the entire tent is singing along

I hate myself for loving you 

Can't break free from the the things that you do 

I wanna walk but I run back to you that's why 

I hate myself for loving you 

Trevor just stares up at the giant of a woman, shouting her affection in front of the entire student body.  By the time the song ends, the tent's filled up considerably.  Such is the power of the Blackhearts.  Ammy looks over the crowd, holding the mic out in front of her like a gat.  She looks down at Trevor, smirks, and then drops the microphone.  The crowd goes nuts.

Ammy disappears down the stairs and nearly makes it out the back before Cassie stops her.  "You're running away now?" Cassie says, grabbing Ammy's arm.  "After all that?"

The Amazon turns.  "I told you I don't do vulnerable very well."

"And you call that vulnerable?"

Ammy just smirks again, the same sort of smile she flashed Trevor from onstage.  Cassie studies the grin, and she can't help but smile a little herself.  Ammy glances past her, and the smile disappears.  "Crap!" she shouts.  "Trevor's coming."  She twists free of Cassie's grip and runs away.

Trevor jogs just out onto the lawn in front of the tent and watches The Amazon go.  She moves with relentless energy, tossing aside unfortunate chess players and drama geeks at every step.  The confused farmer turns and sees Cassie staring at him.  He grins.

"That was pretty amazing."

Cassie chuckles.  "Definitely amazing."

So maybe I'm the only person with this problem... I'm a big fan of these sorta "tomboyish" characters that you sometimes see on TV - girls that are brawlers and scrappers. Metaphorical "brick houses," if you will... although not necessarily "stacked" like a... Look, I'm getting off topic. I really like seeing these characters, but every so often they fall in love with someone. And that's, you know, fine, except it seems that whenever they do, they lose a lot of the "toughness" that makes the character so appealing. I thought I'd try writing a mini love story that showed what would happen if one such scrapper chick kept that toughness while also pursuing a new love interest. Don't know if it worked or not, but I had a ball writing it. "Ammy" the Amazon is a character type I might use again.

Ain't No Mercy

An Open Letter To Dirty Bikers Everywhere

Dear Motorcycle Rider,

I've seen you all out on the roadways, long hair flowing from your immaculately neglected scalps. I know how you must feel. Sure, you've got the increased mobility that comes from owning a hog. You get to save on gas. You can slide between cars and ride in the shoulder in direct defiance to what "the man" tells the rest of us to do. "Surely," I hear you say through my clairvoyant powers, "I must be nigh unto a leather-clad GOD!"

Stop. Just stop for a moment and consider what providence grants you this supposed invulnerability. Remember that, for all the privileges granted to you by law, you are but blades of grass on the great lawn of life, and those of us who continue to travel, as God intended, in a high speed, steel and plexiglass boxcar of death, are like really big feet. True, you ARE that grass which the powers that be have asked the rest of us to be extra super careful not to roll over in our exhaust-spewing demons of the roadways, but there remains the inescapable fact that, if we tread on you, you WILL go splat.

So let's make a deal: I'll pay attention when you zoom through the blind spot on my right, and you'll use your turn signals and wear a helmet, 'kay?

Love, Braddy

Braddy Reads Nothing Can Possibly Go Wrong

Surprisingly, I haven't been reading too many comics recently. I spend most of the time I've set aside for picture entertainment watching cartoons, I guess. Recently, though, I came across the name Faith Erin Hicks as a cartoonist to watch out for. She's got this book called Friends With Boys that's supposed to be excellent... but I didn't start with that one (I'll read it later). Instead, I went to the book she created with Prudence Shen called Nothing Can Possibly Go Wrong.

I should spend more time with this kind of book - you know, a comic book that's about something other than superheroes. NCPGW is a pretty straightforward story about a group of teenagers trying to come up with money for different goals. Amitious and arrogant Nate is trying to raise the funds to help his robotics club enter the National Robotics Fair, while the cheerleading squad is trying to capture those same funds in order to supply the team with new uniforms before their big competition. Poor Charlie, the captain of the basketball team, is caught in the middle, and he's not sure he can handle all the stress while still trying to deal with his parents' divorce (and his mother's new boyfriend).

Those are the stakes in NCPGW, and they're great stakes to have in a story with these characters. Faith Erin Hicks imbues each character with a great deal of charm - they all look good. Even their "acting" is a thing of beauty.

I don't know that you could call this a world-changing book - it's the sort of thing teenagers will read to convince themselves that the world doesn't end just because you're in high school. It's got a lot of the usual cliche's - the jocks vs. the nerds, the prissy squad of cheerleaders, dirty student election politics - but with enough clever twists to keep any of them from wearing on the reader. Plus - and I don't know if I've mentioned this yet - it's really, really funny.

You can knock out NCPGW in about an hour or two, and it's the type of book most public libraries will probably keep a copy of, so I'd strongly recommend it. You could probably even borrow my copy, if you wanted - after I finish reading it the second time, of course.

Feels Like Tartakovsky

I've been a bit of a cartoon freak ever since my college days, when what little time I had between classes and homework was usually spent with my eyes firmly fixed on the Cartoon Network's line of entertainment. I watched a ton of Dexter's Lab and Samurai Jack, but my favorite was always The Powerpuff Girls. I was recently turned on to a "lost episode" of the show, called "See Me, Feel Me, Gnomey,", which pit the super girls against a villainous gnome with the power to give peace on earth. The gnome was SUPPOSED to be voiced by Jack Black, but he wound up getting voiced by Wakko Warner from Animaniacs.

Sai Lai Lufti de Santra Mekidu

Did I mention the episode was a rock opera?

I'm quite fascinated by the animation style of Genndy Tartakovsky, the show's creator. All of his character designs are based on very simple, prominent geometric figures (big bold circles, rectangles, &c.), but he is able to command a great deal of emotion with only a few lines. With a little time to spare this weekend, I decided to try my hand at some Tartakovsky-esque characters of my own.

I had fun with it, even if I'm not terribly satisfied with the background characters. I think I like how these simple designs allow for a lot of variety in body shapes, hair styles, and facial features. You may see me dabbling in these types of designs a bit more.

Braddy Reads A Girl Named Zippy

Considering how little I care for memoir, I sure do read a lot of it. Guess that's what being in a book club is all about. So, yeah, someone ELSE decided that I'd be reading Haven Kimmel's A Girl Named Zippy. Wasn't my choice.

Memoir often strikes me as self-indulgent. "Look at my life!" shouts the author. "Isn't it just literary?" And I definitely think that there's a healthy dose of that here. But, really, does that make the book bad? I think you'd be hard pressed to find one novel whose author wasn't something of an exhibitionist while writing.

An additional problem I have with memoir is that I often find it difficult to react to. Admittedly, since my initial impulse is to pretty much hate everything, I'm choosing my own fate here. I mean, it's certainly upsetting to an author to find out that someone hates their characters, but as long as those characters are fictional, it's hard to take that personal. But with memoir, if I hate a character, I'm basically just telling the author, "Hey. I hate your dad."

Kimmel deals with a lot of themes here - faith, family, social mores - yet she never seems to draw a firm conclusion on any of them. She doesn't believe in Chrisitianity, yet she admires and emulates her Christian friends. She seems to both love and hate her sister. She recognizes that she causes her own problems by refusing to follow societal rules, yet she never changes her behavior to avoid suffering. Is it fair for the author to bring all these points up without leading the reader to a firm conclusion? Maybe not, but it's probably not fair for the reader to demand didactic morality from the author's life, either.

Maybe that's what I hate about memoir - it's too often as messy and un-satisfyingly open-ended as real life. Seriously, I have enough messes outside the pages of the book. I don't need my reading material to jack up my mindspaces.

All that aside, A Girl Named Zippy is a good read. Taken separately, the vignettes from the author's life are charming and amusing, and she's got just the right sardonic voice to pull them off in writing. As a whole, the book leaves you with a lot to think about. It's definitely successful as what it is, and if you like memoir you'll like this too.

Project 30: Save the Princess!

Prince Velor wiped the soot away from his eyes. His nostrils filled with the smell of sulfur mixed with his own sweat. At his feet, Avarice, the Dark Master, lay vanquished, his staff of power cloven in two by the prince's enchanted blade.

"I will ask you only one more time," the weary prince said, raising the sword to Avarice's throat. "Where is Princess Artemis?"

The Dark Master laughed - a throaty, pitiful sound, like the last exhalations of a deer. "You're a fool, Velor," he coughed. "You can search my castle all you like, from the highest parapet to the deepest dungeon, and you will never find her. You may as well strike me down now."

For a moment, Velor's jaw clenched with the firm resolution to do what was needed. He let his breath out, slowly, through his nose. "No," he said. "I will not sully my blade with blood as foul as yours." Velor sheathed his sword and turned away.

"Then you will die!" Avarice revealed a blade he kept concealed in the folds of his robe. He lunged at Velor, the blade held high, and then...

And then a giant bird came and took him away.

What? No, that's not what the book says.

And then a giant bird came and took him away, Daddy, and put him in a big nest, and raised him like a little baby bird, and he never hurt anyone again.

Listen, Jenny, I'm not going to read you anymore stories if you're just going to interrupt me. Now, let me finish.

But you ALWAYS read this part, and it's always the same. I want a different story.

There's no bird, Jenny. Why would a bird fly into the Castle of Eternal Sorrows?

Maybe... maybe it got lost.

Then why would it pick up Avarice?

Maybe he looks like a bird, and maybe the bird was lonely.

Fine, then. A bird came in and took Avarice away. Victorious at last, Prince Velor stood alone. He wiped his blade clean and searched the castle for three days, but the Dark Master's prediction...

What did he eat for three days?

(ahem) ...but the Dark Master's prediction seemed to be true - the princess was not to be found anyway. Weary, the prince leaned against the cold, ungiving stone, when he felt a slight breeze move past his hair. Of course! A secret tunnel! Surely the Dark Master would keep Princess Artemis somewhere only he would be able to find her. Thus, summoning the last of the legendary strength granted to him by the genie's bottle, Prince Velor broke down the wall to find...

A big hole!

Well, yes, of course there was a big hole, but on the other side of it was Princess...

No! There was... there was another big hole.

Why would there be two big holes?

Because the princess got away!

She got away?

Yeah! She was like... BOOSH... and then she went home.

Through the wall? How did she break the wall?

Well, Daddy, she was really a really strong princess.

But it's a thick stone wall. Even the prince needed a genie's spell to break the wall.

Maybe, maybe she found one.

A genie's spell?

Yeah.

There was just a genie's spell lying around in her prison cell?

Yeah.

But that... Jenny, dear, that isn't realistic!

It's just a story, Daddy. There's no such thing as genies.

It's not a very good ending to the story, though. Why would Prince Velor need to come all this way to rescue the princess if she didn't need to be rescued?

Well, maybe... maybe he should have asked her first. If she didn't need to be rescued, he could have stayed home.

Okay, so if the princess isn't in the Dark Master's castle, how did she get home?

Ooh, Daddy! Tell me that story tomorrow!

Anybody read The Princess Bride? Well, this isn't at all like that book. The movie, maybe.

The little girl's voice came almost literally out of nowhere. I planned on writing a story where the hero breaks in to the cell where the evil wizard kept the beautiful princess imprisoned, only to find the princess already escaped. Adding the extra voice of the girl listening to the story helped this little story feel more like something I'd actually want to read.

Whenever I do a digital drawing, I find I lose patience VERY quickly. I imagine I could achieve a lot more detail with these pictures if I took more time with them. Eventually, I think I'll get to that place where I find digital drawing as palate-cleansing as using pen and ink. But that'll be a while, still.

This Is The Book I Wrote

I spent the evening drawing pictures on the iPad with my niece, Clarice. That's us, up there (and, when asked to draw a heart, I may or may not have included an Adventure Time cameo). We drew a lot more this morning. In fact, we co-authored a book. Here it is:

It's called Me, Me, I'm Daddy.

"This is Daddy. Draw him walking on the sidewalk. He's reading our book."

"Daddy saw a little girl. Her name is Clarice."

"Then they saw a bee."

"Draw Daddy and the little girl holding hands. And there are flowers and butterflies. Then Daddy stepped on a flower."

"Okay, this is the last page. Then Daddy found a little boy. That's Daddy's son. Daddy's name is Babadida."

The End.

Project 29: Come Away, Child

Come away, child. Oh child, come away.
The moon, she shines silver. The clouds are all gray.
The birds are all flying,
The wind is a-sighing,
And mother's a-crying.
Oh come, come away.

Come with me, child. Lay your head down.
The lights are all fading, all over the town.
The sheep are now sleeping,
The night crickets creeping,
And father's a-weeping.
Lay your head down.

Close your eyes, child. Oh child, come away.
The preachers are praying, with nothing to say.
The church bells are ringing,
The angels a-singing,
To heaven we're winging.
Oh child, come away.

I almost don't want to tell you where the idea for this poem came from...

In my head, this is a song lyric. The tune is some kind of blend between the melody in the link above and "Once Upon a December" from Anastasia.

More experimentation with linework here. I don't know how I ever thought I could draw wood without the rough hatching, like what I do on the crib.

Skyline in the Last Fallen City

Seems like a nice enough place to raise a family...

Experimenting with hatching. I'm finding a few preferred methods. The woven pattern I used on the sky is a great one, although it doesn't quite match what's being shaded. Long lines just feel too cumbersome. I find I like the results of hatching better when I use shorter, less exact lines. Sacrificing control helps the effect feel more organic. At least, to me it does.