Today’s post comes in 2 parts. One for yesterday and one for today. My internet has been fixed so regular posting shall resume.
Day 32 of 365
For storytelling practice I didn’t do a ton. I made a list of types of stories I want to work on and the broad categories they can fit into. This is to help me for when I get stuck.
- Visual Stories
- Lettering, Photographs, 2D artistic narratives, illustrations
- Video Narratives
- Animations, scripts, vlogs, videos
- Creative Writing
- Novels, short stories, one offs
- Analytical Narratives
- Design Dumps
- Inspiration, doodles, and thinking process for stories, experimental ideas
- Animation updates/Misc
I also picked a schedule for my animation. Updates for animations will be on Wednesday and Friday. That keeps the rest of the week free for whatever type of content I want to create. One thing I don’t want to do is restrict myself with a schedule, with the exception of large milestones for my animation. You can view that below.
Once again big animation updates will be on Wednesday & Friday. Below is the general schedule I’m aiming to hold to.
Week 1: Planning – Ideas, moodboards, scripts, thumbnails, prep in general
Week 2: Animatics – Rough animatics, refining story
Week 3: Rough Animation
Week 4: Refining & coloring, post video by last day of the month
Day 33 of 365.
My notebook is torn around the edges with a little bit of dried blood as the scent. I forget frequently that it spent an afternoon drenched in death over a year ago. It’s got scratches and a hole deep inside of the pages where Katie once stabbed a knife through it. I threw the notebook at her head after that. It nearly killed her when she fell into the glass table. Of course she had it coming after trying to kill me. She’s still mad and every once in awhile I catch her in the shadows looking for another way to tear me down. I don’t care much for her kind though. My notebook is reasonably solid despite all the wear and tear of it’s hard life. I still write in it, around the hole. I still refused to let go of it despite Rainer and Scarro’s need to mock me. They’ve been mocking me for longer than I can remember, but I still hold on.
Today is one of those horrible days. The notebook is falling apart on the sofa and I’ve been stabbed in the shoulder again. I keep dripping blood on the pages as I write. My shoulder burns with every movement, but I refuse to stop writing. I’ve smeared blood over the words I’ve written.
“Vern, why do you keep that thing?” Rainer asks walking in and she filling a whisky glass. Her jaw is bloody and her red eyes flick over the scene. “and who’s she?” She gestures to the woman lying facedown on our white rug. There’s a pool of blood oozing out and staining it.
“She stabbed me,” I counter,”Why do you wear your necklace?”
Rainer raises a dark eyebrow. “I want a new rug for my birthday.”
“When was this one from again?”
“Sometime early? I don’t remember. Just get me a new rug. Whisky?”
“No, she poisoned it with some kind of drug for vampires,” I say. Rainer spits the sip she’d just taken back into the cup.
“Now you tell me!” she hisses angrily. “What type of drug?”
“Something that makes you weak, have a headache, feverish qualities, and blurry vision.”
“She drugged you and then attacked you, didn’t she?”
Scarro waltzes in from the backdoor. He stops short at the scene. “Who’s she?”
“A terrible vampire hunter,” Rainer responds walking over to the arm chair. “Oh…there goes my vision. Fuuuuuck. Verrrrn,” she whines leaning back as the drug begins to hit her.
I sigh and write another line into the notebook. The blood is still wet, drenching the pages.
“What’s with you?” Scarro asks Rainer as he pokes the dead hunter on the floor with his toe.
Rainer points at me with a shaking hand. “That one let me drink the drugged whisky.”
Scarro puts his hands on his hips. “You let her do what?” he asks, his mouth tightening at the corners as it always does when he’s angry. I glance up, and shut my notebook. I’m not getting any writing done at this point.
“She didn’t ask until she already had a sip. Do you remember when the rug is from?” I ask.
“I don’t remember…sometime between when killed Raunch’s wife and when World War 2 ended…actually that’s just when we acquired it from that museum. I’m not even sure past that point.”
“Well the rug is ruined.”
“We know that, just get me a new one,” Rainer says rubbing her head. “How long till this wears off?”
“Probably 20 minutes at most. You didn’t drink much,” I tell her.
The phone rings. I roll my eyes and look around for it. Scarro beats me to it and answers.
“Rossette estate, this is Scarro speaking.” Rainer closes her eyes and grumbles dramatically. She never could take any type of sickness well in her human moments and vampire state. “I’ll let him know. Thank you for calling.”
I raise my eyebrow. “For me? Who’s delightful enough to call me?”
Scarro hangs up the phone after a moment. He glances at Rainer and then back at me. “They found her Vern.”
My grip tightens around my notebook. Rainer snaps open her eyes to stare at Scarro. Her bloodshot eyes are wide.
The word is slow on my tongue, “Where?” This feeling of despair and confusion is foreign to me. I haven’t felt it for at least 30 years not since Katie stabbed the notebook.
Scarro fidgets with a stray string on his sweater. “You sure you want to invite her back in? It’s been nearly 100 years since you last talked her.” He refuses to make eye contact with me.
I glance at the notebook. The scratches and blood it’s endured and my grip on it it. “Where?” I ask again louder.
Scarro swallows hard. He hasn’t been supportive of this century long search since the beginning. Every time I get close he tries to convince me to stop. After a long pause he speaks. “New York.”
I rise. “Where in New York?”
To Be Continued