(published)

mesknoxx  asked:

Really specific question but: How many pages of Wilde Life did you have finished before you started posting them online? And how many did you post when you first launched? I'm starting my own series and I kinda want an idea of what to shoot for before I release it for people to read. Thanks :)

Hey! This is a super good question and something that everyone wanting to launch a new webcomic project should be considering!

When I first launched Wilde Life in September of 2014, I started with the entire first chapter “Like You’ve Seen a Ghost,” which I think is around 40 pages. (I also posted the final 30 or so pages of Zap! on that same day, which made it a huge comics day for me). As for what my buffer was then, I can’t quite remember, but it was probably four or so pages.

If you are a new creator to the webcomic scene, it is extremely important that you launch with enough pages for people to get invested. Sometimes the only press you can get for your comic early on is that you’ve launched it. If someone hears about a new comic and goes to check it out, and it only has like two pages up, they’ll move on – and it is very likely they’ll completely forget about it and never go back, even if everything looks great! So you for sure want to make use of your initial buzz by putting out enough material for people to get invested or curious about your project.

Its also a good idea to avoid really marketing or promoting your comic until you have a big enough chunk of it posted to hook people. It is much easier to gain and maintain readers when you have enough content for them to feel invested. For those first six months or so, just really focus on producing the material, even though it feels super exciting and you want to tell everyone!

Good luck!

I’m getting published?!

OK guys, I held off on making a post about this for a little bit because I wanted to be more sure that it was going to go through - but it seems as though it’s kind of really happening, so???!

on one of my fics - Where There’s a Wing, There’s a Way, the one with Dean as an engineering student, and Cas as an art student, and they work on a final project together? - I got a comment from a brand shiny new publishing house, asking whether I would like to be part of their first ever anthology. gasps from the audience pls.

I was a bit uncertain at first because - well, fanfic is free, and the idea of monetising something that I’d created freely felt kind of weird. but I was super curious and the idea of technically being a published author was/is pretty damn appealing. that’s not the whole picture of my thought process but I don’t want to bore everyone by spelling out all of my reasoning in this post, so if you’re curious, please ask!

so BASICALLY I said yes, signed a contract, and got going with it! in the past few days I’ve been bouncing a couple of drafts back and forth between me and an editor, which has been fun - my first time working with an editor, which has been super interesting and kind of daunting at first, but also really fun!

the fic will (hopefully) be published as part of an anthology :O what I wanted to ask anyone interested was, do you think I should put a link to this blog - whelvenwings - in the anthology, so that anyone reading my story via ebook can come here? on the one hand, it might be nice for a few new readers to be able to come and see my other writing, and get in on the fruit wars or something, I don’t know. on the other hand, it does open this blog up to a new… genre??… of people, who aren’t necessarily versed in the kind of general “don’t be a dick” etiquette of fandom. I’m on the fence. so what does anyone think?

The Tale of Ser Aveline

Once upon a time there was a poor, bitter farmer.

He lived with his wife and children, near the lands of the elves.

He was selfish, and cold, with eyes that were dark, and bones that were old.

Our story starts when his wife became pregnant, with another of their many children.

When his wife bore the child, he looked at the babe and felt disappointment.

She was too thick, and too round, her nose too crooked, and her mouth too proud.

He looked at the red-orange curls on her little head, and he thought that redheads meant bad luck.

Because he was selfish, the farmer didn’t want to care for his daughter.

Because he was cold, he did not love her.

He did not see her beauty, because his eyes were too dark.

He did not feel her promise, because his bones were too old.

And so he took her to the woods and left her there, hoping she would be no more.

When he left, she did not cry.

When the wind blew, she did not cry.

When the wolves howled at the silver moon, still she did not cry.

The farmer had hoped she would die, but he had left her near the woods of the elves.

A hunter, strong and true, was scouting the forest for food to bring back to his clan.

He happened upon our young hero, slumbering peacefully in an old fallen oak tree.

He picked her up and held her, and still she did not cry.

The hunter saw this, and was impressed.

She was thick, and round, with a crooked nose, and a mouth that was proud.

He saw her red-orange curls, and he thought they must be lucky.

He took her back to the clan, and they agreed to raise her as their own..

To them, it did not matter that she was too thick, or too round.

They liked that her nose was crooked, and they thought it was good that her mouth was proud..

Her red-orange hair was a beautiful gift, a fire to warm them on the coldest nights.

They named her Aveline, the prettiest of the human names.

As she grew she got thicker, and her muscles rounder.

Her nose stayed crooked, and her mouth curved prouder.

Her red-orange curls grew long and wavy.

She was trained n the ways of their warriors, in dueling and archery.

She learned to wield a dagger and a blade, and to hit a target from all the way across the rivers.

She learned to hunt, and fish, and gather food.

The Keeper of the clan saw how much Aveline liked her training, and she thought that she might enjoy the tournaments that the humans held.

She encouraged Aveline to participate.

Aveline had never trusted humans after she had learned that her family had left her.

She thought they must all be selfish, and cold, with eyes that stayed dark, and bones that grew old.

She did not need or want them, for she had all the family she could ever desire in her clan.

Still, she heard stories of the battles held at the tournaments, and she dreamed of the crowds and the banners, of the clash of steel and the noble knights.

She wanted, more than anything, to participate in the tournaments, but she thought she never would.

In Orlais it was forbidden for women to be knights, and only knights could enter the tournament.

Aveline was laughed at when she had tried, and she had run home to her clan, hurt because they had told her that she could not fight…

and that she was too thick, and too round, and her nose too crooked and her mouth too proud.

Even though she was hurt, still she did not cry.

Her clan  told her she was beautiful, and bade her hunt for them, so that she could feel strong and skilled, as they knew she was.

As Aveline went to hunt, the clan met together, and they decided that they would show the humans how wonderful Aveline was.

They worked together, and they worked late into the night, and after many hours they had made two gifts that would let her pursue her dreams.

When Aveline returned, they presented her with a beautiful suit of gleaming armor, with a beautiful, gleaming helm.

Aveline was moved, and knew that she could never repay them, but they insisted that they needed no thanks, only to see her smile.

She tried it on, and it fit perfectly.

She no longer felt too thick, or too round, and her helm covered her crooked nose, and her mouth that smiled so proud.

As she wore the armor, her clan presented her with the second gift: a beautiful blade, carved of ironbark.

Aveline now had everything she needed.

She thanked her clan a thousand times, and told them how much she loved them.

Then she left, to enter the tournament, and make them proud.

This time no one laughed at her, and she was able to face the other knights.

She fought many battles, and she did very well.

The crowd cheered for this mysterious knight, who wore a beautiful, gleaming suit of armor, and a beautiful, gleaming helm.

She was the happiest she had ever been, and she was nearing the finals of the tournament.

Her next opponent was Prince Freyan.

He was very tall, and very proud. His eyes shone bright green, and he was loved by the crowd.

His black-blue hair was like velvet in the sun.

He shook her hand before battle, and he was the first man that had smiled at her.

They fought, him with a steel and her with ironbark.

They were well matched, and equal blow to blow.

For a time, the crowd grew hushed as they watched, and Aveline and Freyan thought that they might end in a tie, as neither could seem to best the other.

Just when she thought she could go on no more, Aveline was given her chance.

She leaped in the air, and with a great, sweeping spin, she knocked the prince to the ground!

She leaned over him, the tip of her blade pointed at his throat.

Her red-orange hair curled out of the bottom of her beautiful, gleaming helm.

She met Freyan’s eyes, and they both smiled.

She dropped her blade, and offered him a hand up.

He took it and stood, and peered into her beautiful, gleaming helm as he rose.

“You are different than the other knights.” He told her.

Beneath her beautiful, gleaming helm, Aveline blushed.

She tucked her red-orange curls away, and shook her head, unable to speak.

The Prince, still smiling, shook her hand again.

“I hope you win.” He told her.

Prince Freyan returned to his seat, and as he went Aveline thought that he was tall, and proud.

She noticed his eyes that were bright green, and how he was loved by the crowd.”

It was time for Aveline to win her final fight.

The Knight that stepped into the ring was the Emperor’s own, and had won many fights with violence and anger.

He was rough, and loud, with angry eyes, and a wicked crown.  

Aveline was not afraid, however.

She fought the knight, and as they fought he grew angrier.

He could not push her, because she was too thick.

He could not dodge around her, because she was too round.

He didn’t like her crooked blade, and thought her armor was too proud.

As he grew tired battling Aveline, he also grew impatient.

He waited for the right moment, and when Aveline was not prepared he thrust his foot out, tripping her.

She toppled to the ground, her beautiful, gleaming armor being knocked askew…

and off flew her beautiful, gleaming helm.

The Knight, and the Prince, and all the crowd grew silent.

Her red-orange curls had spilled on the ground.

They could see that she was a woman, and that was not allowed.

The Knight was ashamed that she had almost bested him, and so he turned to the Prince.

“I demand she be disqualified. Her fight should be forfeit.” He said.

The crowd, however, had seen her fight. They had seen her skills.

They did not care that she was so thick, or so round, or that she had a crooked nose, or that her mouth was proud.

With her red-orange hair beneath her beautiful, gleaming helm, she had won over their favor, no matter where she came from.

The crowd booed the angry knight, and asked the Prince to let the match continue.

The knight’s frown was rough, his fury loud, with angry eyes turned, beneath his wicked crown.

Prince Freyan stood, holding up his hands for silence, and the crowd and the angry knight grew still.

He smiled at Aveline, and said: “The match will continue, our mystery knight may still fight!”

They looked at each other, and she thought that she liked that he was tall, and proud, and that his eyes were bright green, and that he had listened to the crowd.

The Angry knight was not so pleased, however.

His curse was rough, his footsteps loud, his eyes dark and angry, beneath his wicked crown.

He took up his blade, and lifted it high, and he struck down Aveline before she could rise.

“NO!” The Prince cried, and he leaped from the stands.

He ran to her side, and held her in his arms.

Her wound was too deep, and too long. With her blood on the floor, where it didn’t belong.

“Thank you,” she told him. “I’m sorry that I was a woman.”

The Prince smiled down at her, with tears in his eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he told her. “For what you are, never apologize.”

She smiled, and he thought he had never seen anything stronger.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Aveline.” She told him, and then her eyes fluttered closed.

To her last, she had not cried.

Aveline died in his arms, and he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

He thought that she was beautiful.

She was thick, and round, with a cute crooked nose, and a mouth very proud.

Her red-orange hair shined in the sun, and he thought that it must have been lucky for those that had known her longer.

The prince was sad, and angry, and he stood and turned to the knight.

He drew his blade and slew him where he stood.

He turned to the crowd, and said: “I hereby declare Aveline the winner of the tournament, and the greatest Knight today.”

They cheered, as they wept, for they had loved her too.

The prince returned home, and he mourned for her loss.

He declared the next day that any woman who wanted to should be allowed to become a knight, and enter any tournament that they wished.

He hung her beautiful, gleaming armor with its beautiful, gleaming helm in his palace, with her ironbark blade beside it.

And that is the tale of Ser Aveline, the redheaded knight who was too thick, and too round, and had a crooked nose, and a mouth that was too proud.

Thrift-Store Bargains and how a Chair Reminded Me How Far I’ve Come

So today was an awesome day. I got four-and-a-half pages written on Post Worlds #3 last night, and my mom and I love thrift shopping, so I decided to spend a day at some charming local stores.

Before I get to the chair and moral of the day, here are the other goodies I picked up:

-an antique picnic basket (I have a huge obsession with picnic baskets for no apparent reason) for $8

-a beautiful original piece of wood art featuring dried flowers sealed by resin for $2 and change

-a 1935 mystery novel (this version from 1941, pictured in the photo below) that sounds like a good read

-and a vintage-looking teddy bear (also pictured) a kind vendor gave me who was closing up her booth

Now, the reclining chair. I have wanted a nice quiet space in my room to read and write for a long time, because, however much I try, I just cannot get comfortable enough to think at a desk. I like to chill out while contemplating plots. This adorable piece of furniture was a steal at $20. I was overjoyed. 

Until I got it home and it wouldn’t fit through the doorway to my room.

Even getting it to my door, I thought I pulled a calf muscle (luckily, a stretching exercise I learned in a cardio-kickboxing class fixed it). My mom and I both tried for several minutes, turning it every way imaginable. I tried mentally calculating scientific angles. I contemplated sawing off the legs. I was this close to sawing out a chunk of the wall. The dang thing would. Not. Fit.

My mom finally gave up, hoping I would too, afraid I’d break the chair and destroy my doorway.

But there was no freaking way I would not get that chair into my room.

So while she amusingly sat down and got a snack to eat while she watched, I took several more minutes to figure out every possible angle. I twisted and turned some more, turned it on its side, upside down, even diagonally. Then, finally, I got the front two legs in. And then it got stuck again. I wriggled the third leg in. And it got stuck again. Almost there, almost there… There had to be a way. If only I could have unscrewed the hinges from my door temporarily, I could have taken it off to give a little more room.

I pushed some more. By this point, I was so frustrated I wanted to cry. The chair edged in a little bit farther, but all still looked hopeless. The top part was too long. There was no way it would fit. I tried opening my door farther, but it was as wide as it would go. Unless…

I’d forgotten about the shoe rack on the back. Maybe taking that off would help, however unlikely…

The chair gave a few more inches, but still, that top part and last leg wouldn’t budge.

Hmm, I thought. The doorway is still narrow, but maybe if the door itself could open even farther

And then, I remembered my pair of work shoes I’d wedged behind it to clean up. That would only allow about two or three extra inches, but every fragment of space would help. It couldn’t hurt…

So I removed the shoes and pressed the door so its knob touched the wall. I struggled with the chair some more. In disbelief, my mom pitched in again to help. I told her I had it, just needed to calculate a few more creative angles. And then, instantly, it happened.

I YANKED THE CHAIR THROUGH THE FREAKING NARROW DOORWAY.

Breathing hard and sweating, I couldn’t remember a greater feeling since getting my book published. And that made me realize God gave me an incredible gift never to be taken for granted: determination.

When I was younger, I used to wonder what the right word was for pushing myself to the limit. I may have even considered it a vice. When I ran laps at the gym in college, why did I push myself to do one more when I wanted to gulp a bottle of water and collapse? When I sang, why did I push myself to hit notes past my comfort zone? When I rode horses, cantering wasn’t enough; why did I want to fit a gallop in at some point during every ride?

When I got rejection after rejection from literary magazines, agents, and publishers alike, why did I work even harder than I had before?

One word, complicated and difficult in itself with five syllables: determination.

Never give up.

That’s what I’ve stuck by in my writing career thus far and, apparently, life, and it’s worked. I still have a day job, still don’t have enough money to move to my dream location of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and am still a virtually unknown author. But I have a job after filling out dozens of applications, I still dream about the mountains, and I am an author. I never gave up, and I’m never going to.

Not even a stubborn little chair is going to stop me from striving for my dream!

I’ve probably been too hard on myself, thinking I never do enough. But that aggravating chair reminded me how much I have done and how hard I’ve worked to come this far.

I’m super proud of myself, and I think the chair is too.

Note: Ironically, this chair was so stubborn, its photo refused to load via a normal text post, so I had to paste this entire post into a caption. Another test of determination!

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To the anon who sent me an ask about Jesus Christ:

I am so sorry you think that of Jesus Christ… “If a man pays back evil for good, evil will never leave his house.” Proverbs 16:31. So please don’t be like this, all of my friends that have been recieving your hateful comments have been replying with love. If you choose not to stop your life with just be more miserable and full of hate. I don’t want that for you, I have no idea what you are going through to cause you to act like this but I will be praying for you. Jesus Christ died on the cross for you and everyone! He loves you. I just hope you are ok, and if you ever want to talk about what’s wrong or why you do not wish to believe in Jesus Christ, I will always be here for you. Jesus Christ will ALWAYS be there for you!
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”
-John 3:16