So I thought I’d do a quick surf of the internet before hitting bed tonight and scrolling through twitter I find Hiro Mashima post that he has completed the final chapter of the Fairy Tail manga. If I thought my heart was broken that was only the start of it. I also read that Hiro and his team were gifted with a crystal tombstone with engravings of Happy, Natsu and Lucy as well as the running dates and Hiro’s name at the bottom.
We have finally reach the end of an era and it will be a bittersweet ending when the last chapter finally goes up for all us fans out there.
FAIRY TAIL FOREVER 👆🏻
As a freshman in art school I cringed when I was told that students were required to keep a sketchbook. I never draw preparatory sketches because I like to work a painting out as I go, not in advance. When shown a finished artwork and its original sketch, I usually find the first draft to be more spontaneous, energetic, fresh and beautiful. But I was an obedient student so I forced my hand and began drawing in a Moleskine journal.
Drawing in public places always led to striking up conversations with strangers and helped me to make friends outside of school. I began drawing and experimenting on a daily basis. I bought acrylic ink for a school assignment and poured some into my sketchbook using an eye dropper. I liked how the ink bled onto other pages, adding color and texture. I fell in love with the medium and started drawing with ink using a dip pen and brush.
It’s difficult to use dip pens, brushes and ink jars while sitting in a cafe, so I began painting in my room. The privacy loosened me up and my themes became more personal. For years I was in the habit of punctuating paintings with song lyrics, but I finally started using my own poetry. After a while, I grew so invested in the sketchbooks that I began referring to them as “books of paintings” to imply they were complete, indivisible artworks.
I used to surf the internet to find images to draw, but that became boring because I kept googling the same things: antelope, construction cranes and light houses were among my usual search terms. In 2011 I got into photography and started using my own photos for reference. Now I exclusively paint scenes from memory or personal photographs.
Change is so gradual it’s hard to tell if I’m improving at all, so occasionally I flip through my collection of Moleskines. I think the most important creative change was the decision to stop copying images from the internet and other people’s poetry. This really opened me up creatively and I’ve become more observant of my surroundings– time spent outside of studio feels creative and productive because I always have an eye out for material.
When I was eleven I stole my mom’s xanax
Prescribed for anxiety
Covered up as a solution for a pinched nerve
No one told me the depth at which illness runs through my veins
Too sensitive, too weak, too negative
Anxious, depressed, paranoid–
Terms never mentioned above a hushed whisper
Sixth grade I swallowed pills that weren’t mine
Surfed the internet on my iPod touch for different ways to deliver the chemicals
When I was twelve I started snorting modafinal
Lifted from my fathers medicine cabinet
Too tired to handle with care
Crushed between two spoons
That year brought notebooks filled with masterpieces
Written in languages I could not understand in the morning
Thirteen brought study drugs
My brothers adderall carrying me through an accelerated math program far beyond my capabilities
The learning disabilities I was unaware of could not hold me down after a few blue lines
At fourteen years old
OxyContin was a lifeline to which I clung
Surgery after surgery my mom was too busy recovering to manage
At school the vocab word of the week was insufflate
Fifteen brought trauma as I led a pure life into my line of recreation
She stole her mom’s pills too
We took everything we could find
Chasing a feeling she didn’t know and I couldn’t describe
Sixteen brought weed and alcohol and
Selling adderall in Spanish class
To fund the steady stream of
opioids and benzodiazepines I needed to
keep my hands from shaking
Heartbreak and new love came with seventeen
A new love to share my passion with
She blew lines of oxy off my ass on our first date
Rubbed the leftover powder on my gums
Taught me to do blow off of CD’s in my driveway
She carried a rolled-up dollar bill in her wallet
Always ready for the next hit
I loved her
And she shattered me
Eighteen ended the cycle and
A new lover kept me high on marijuana
High enough to let down my walls
But not enough to stop the shaking
Sharing bowls in the backseat of his car
Blunt walks on the beach
He hates when I tasted like cigarettes
Antidepressants stimulants and downers
With my name on them
Rot on my nightstand
As I try to make peace with an addiction recommended by a
I don’t care if I’m damaged, honestly I think I’m just bored
Here’s a bunch of random advice that I’ve been given or learned over the years:
Train Your Brain - Write Every Day This one is so so sososo important. If you want to be a writer, you absolutely need to train yourself to write every day - It’s the only way to get better. You need to make it part of your routine, and part of your life. Set aside a little time, even just 30 minutes, and make that your Writing Time every single day. For me, it’s the first 2 hours right after I wake up. I get up, I make coffee, I sit by my window that looks out at my garden, and I type or scribble away for 2 hours. No surfing the internet, no getting distracted… that’s my writing time. By setting these sorts of habitual patterns you’ll train your brain to be creative on your command.
Finding your “voice” It doesn’t matter whether it’s a novel or an episode of a scifi TV show, great writing always has something personal in there from the writer; some nugget of emotion and truth that makes it sing. It doesn’t matter how cool your story is, how complicated or interesting your characters are, if you’re not finding inspiration in your own life and putting Yourself in there it’s gonna fall flat. This one took me a surprisingly long time to learn. Which leads me to…
“Write what you know” doesn’t just mean “Write about your life” I used to think that “Write what you know” was lame advice that meant people should only write about their own lives and experiences… and that’s pretty boring, right? The thing it took me ages and ages to figure out was that it meant “Take what you’ve learned about emotions, relationships, friendships, and living from your own life, and apply that to your stories.” So even if I live alone in the middle of nowhere with no friends (hello, 2013) I can use that experience to, say, write a story about an astronaut on a space station.
Make your characters sound different from each other There’s nothing worse than reading something where all the characters’ voices sound exactly the same. Whenever I write a new character I always, always try to have someone’s voice in mind for them - Could be an actor, a friend, a family member, someone I heard on a train… But as I write that character I imagine that person’s voice saying the words and what they would say; it helps inform sentence structure, vocabulary, verbal tics. It helps keep the dialogue feeling real and unique from other characters’ dialogue. The whole process is kind of like being an actor except entirely in your head and on the page. To help build up a “database” of voices, I spend a lot of time studying people’s speech patterns and voices out and about in the world. I’ll be at a restaurant or in a store and hear someone say something in a unique way, or with a great accent, and I’ll write it down in my notebook for later. Speaking of which…
Keep a notebook (or at least a note on your phone) for ideas Now admittedly I’m a bit of a notebook fiend (I go through 3-5 of those Moleskine notebooks a year) but I really think they are one of the best weapons a writer can have in their arsenal. Anytime you have any scrap of an idea, whip out your notebook (or, sigh, your phone) and jot it down. It could be a single idea for a joke, it could be a great line of dialogue, it could be a character or location you want to use… write it down. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve found solutions by just flipping through a notebook and spotting something that I forgot I wrote down.
Analyze your favorite writing Make sure to spend time thinking about the writing that inspires you and gets you jazzed - Why do you like it? What are the common elements? Do you think you’d be able to write something like that? That sort of academic work will pay off in the long run, trust me.
“No one will read this…” …And that’s okay! You need to remind yourself when you’re first starting out that no one may read what you’re writing - But don’t let that discourage you! I have a whole drawer (okay, a Dropbox folder) full of scripts that no one else has ever read. And they’re mostly garbage! But I learned lots of stuff from writing them. Remember that, at first, you should be writing just for the joy of doing it, rather than looking for praise from other people. I find that lots of young writers spend more time thinking about the end results rather than actually doing the work - So stop thinking about ways you’ll “troll your fans” and focus on actually writing, ya sillyhead!
Bryson Tiller returns with his Sophomore album True to Self. This was a very enjoyable album to listen to. In aspects of comparing it to Trapsoul it is definitely not a slump at all. He still provides us with the same transparency that we got in Trapsoul and the same high quality sound. Bryson takes us on a journey telling a story of what life has been like for him since Trapsoul changed his life.
Hewwo everyone~! ^^ My name is Georgia, and I’m nearly 17. I’m from Perth, Western Australia, and an newly exploring my Bisexuality (or what I think to be).
I am quite initially quite shy and reserved until you get to meet me, and once I become comfortable, I am incredibly quirky, outgoing and weird. XD I am, however, pretty moody and sensitive, so I apologise for that super unappealing factor. I am a serious dreamer, a definitive hermit and a wannabe poet - although I often go by derogatory midget names (cause of my sad 4'9 height).
I adore literature, watching movies (particularly horror), classic rock music, exploring, and writing. I also love anime, makeup, art, photography and surfing the internet. Shoutout to meh precious kitty cats - yes, I am the official ‘crazy cat lady’. XD
Dun be afraid to message - I’m only a very awkward potato! XD My official Tumblr is; @justalonesomepotato
Lukas sits in the diner down the street
from his Computer Studies class and eats his burger, drumming his fingers on
the table. He hates Tuesdays now because his and Philip’s schedules are exactly
opposite, and they don’t get to see each other until late because Philip’s History
of Photography class runs until seven.
He texts Philip. Thinking about me in class?
Always Philip replies, a
moment later. You eating dinner?
Lukas picks at his fries, dipping one into
the ketchup. He types out a response with one finger. Sadly. Lonely. We only get three hours together tonight before we have
to go to sleep.
Lukas sighs, wishing it was Friday
already. On Friday they both only have two classes early in the morning, and
then they have the whole weekend off.
We’ve got date
night Thursday. Then Friday and the weekend are all ours :)
I’ve always been different from others. I’ve seen things since i was about 7. i live in a small town in the middle of the USA, I’ve always hated the upstairs of the house i live in and i slept down stairs till i finally got the nerve to move into a extra room for privacy reasons when i was 11.I hated the closet and I didn’t really enjoy being in that room but i had to deal with it. my first nights in this room were uncomfortable. i was laying in bed and both nights i woke up at 2:56 a.m. The first night i didn’t think anything of it other than i noticed my bear was across the room and not in bed with me. So i got up and retrieved him and went to sleep. the second night I woke up to what i thought was my cat scratching my door wanting in but i looked at the door and the shadow was not that of an animal. i stayed awake the rest of the night. after that i just experienced little things and i met my best friend who I’m going to name her lila for security reasons. but lila and i had met at school and she was one of the few who knew of things that happened for she had her own experiences with it. i had just gotten a new laptop for my 12th birthday that year and it had a voice command thing on it.her and i were surfing the internet and we eventually grew hungry and bored so we asked to go to McDonald’s. I left my computer on thinking nothing would happen but when we returned we saw that in the search bar was the name Elizabeth Marrie saldia. We were both fearful for note the fact. everyone was gone and no one was home while we were gone. things grew slowly very weird after that. not only me but members in the household started hearing things and also saw things. My grandmother didn’t want to believe it as much until the day i was down in the car and lila and her were yelling up the stairs for me while seeing a similar figure at the top of the stairs. i didn’t know what was taking them so long until i decided to walk back up to the house and tell them to hurry up. when they heard my voice they turned and looked at me in shock and looked up the stairwell to tell me they saw someone upstairs. we immediately rushed up there to find the intruder but found nothing.
Art wants you for the long haul. Pace yourself. An athlete is old at thirty-four. Artists are catching their stride at sixty.
There’s a famous anecdote about Anders Zorn. It may be apocryphal. Zorn went to art school eight hours a day, so the story goes. Not enough for this prodigious talent, so he went home and painted for four more. Twelve hours a day: that’s how much dedication Zorn put into his craft.
Good for him, and good for you if you can do it. And you may be the type that can. But, if you’re not …
You’ll try it for a week—fail miserably. You’ll give up your dream, convinced you never had it, whatever it is.
Just as there’s an art to drawing a beautiful figure, there’s also an art to reinventing yourself. Both need a process to build on.
• I want to be a fine artist. • I want to be an animator. • I want a hobby other than surfing the Internet. • I want to draw my grandchild or grandparent and be proud enough to frame it.
Whatever your dream is, try this: Draw for five minutes a day. Draw a tube. Draw a figure. Draw the eye of a figure or whatever you can draw in five minutes. Do that for two weeks and only that. If you miss a day or two, forgive yourself and start again.When you’ve accomplished those, make it ten minutes a day. Do that for another week.The strange and wondrous thing about the human condition is each of us needs to motivate ourselves to become the person we really want to be. Motivate! It’s usually about forming good habits and building on countless little improvements: improvements in craft, in work habits, in cutting ourselves a break every once in a while. So …
• five minutes • ten minutes • fifteen minutes
Eventually, you’ll find a good habit has formed, and you no longer have to fool yourself into doing what you really wanted to do all along. You’ll also find the five or ten minutes often turn into ten or fifteen minutes without even realizing it.Now, how are you feeling? Like a winner? An artist? You should. Artists do art, and you’ve been doing it every single day.
How many hours do five minutes every day over twenty years equal? A lot. Be in it for the long term. And when you’re not drawing with a pencil, draw with your eyes. See the world as an artist because you are an artist. Be modest in your goals, at first.Five minutes a day and soon you’ll be putting in the long hours without even thinking about it. Why? Because you proved weeks ago who you really are!So, I wish for you those small improvements. Because, then, I know you’ll be making new ones next year and the year after that, just like I will be.I’ll know both of us are making our world a little more beautiful, five minutes at a time.
Klaine fic - “All the Beautiful Pieces” (Rated NC17)
Blaine Anderson is spending the summer after graduation flipping houses with his brother for Cooper’s total home renovation show. The show features the worst houses Cooper can buy, with Blaine playing the role of lackey so that Cooper can torture him in front of his viewers. The last house Blaine has to renovate is an original Victorian House in San Diego, CA, which is in terrible condition. But this house turns out to be more than just another job. It was once owned by a famous Vaudeville ventriloquist by the name of Andrew Smythe. It houses a very interesting collection of items - among them, two life-sized puppets. Blaine isn’t sure exactly why, but he’s drawn to them - especially to the one with the beautiful blue eyes. He convinces Cooper to give him the puppets, and Blaine starts to restore them. In the course of the restoration, Blaine finds out that neither puppet is simply a run-of-the-mill puppet, and Andrew Smythe was hiding a secret that will be the key to saving two lives.
pulls up to the house at a quarter after ten. It looks exactly the way he left
it, horrendous paintjob and all, but with the addition of a U-Haul truck parked
by the curb, and a grown man wearing a navy blue polo and retro 1980s acid wash
jeans staring in at the window with his hands pressed to the glass. From the
back, he looks like an oversized Cabbage Patch kid, but in the reflection of
the window, he more closely resembles a young Karl Marx with the iconic frizzy beard.
the man plaintively moans. “Blaine, where are you? Open the door…”
shakes his head when he sees him, chuckling at his woeful wail. Blaine parks in
front of the house, but the man doesn’t notice, focused as intently as he is on
the living room full of toys, visible through the curtains that Blaine neglected
to pull closed the night before.
Blaine calls out as he steps out of his minivan. “Have some self-respect, man.”