[Herr D]

@Weilyn said:

Made me some dwarves, for my “Dwarf recipe” thread over in the “Tips, Tricks, How-Tos, and Guides” forum, and to get a hang of their proportions. I’m pretty fond of the end result.

Do fantasy dwarves swim? I can’t recall anything against the idea, but I’m wondering where they could find a pool with a shallow end at one foot deep . . . you know, for beginners and kids.

[Herr D]

Ah, djuby! I already declared! Saturday deadline, man. Sorry. Good entry, though. Keric should be along soon and I’ll be glad to compete with you with his 3 items.

[Herr D]

…This program brought to you by Keric Graphic Design . . .
http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/2013hm/HerrDTheDJ_zps9f47d59a.png

They had a tough tour and went right back to the studio. Momentarily, we’ll have their sponsor’s three special requests.

[Herr D]

Well, a name that evokes blood, explosion, energy, and control issues is ‘Plasma.’

[Herr D]

MM2M: Module 3 — The BUG.
Some of you know what two-year-olds are like. Sometimes they have a problem with categories. I don’t know the term for it in dev. psyc., but one word per category is all they use: A dog is everything with 4 legs, etc.

A child in the baby seat said, “There’s a BUG!”
The parent said, “Didja GIT ‘im?”
“No, he’s too HEAVY.”

Of course, in reality, the child meant too FAR or too FAST. But we’re sticking with heavy. Realistically speaking, the child might not have meant insect or arachnid, but anything unpleasant looking with multiple legs, possible wings, and nowhere near soft and cuddly. Perhaps arthropoidal, etc. So, in the twisted imaginings of a heavily sleep-deprived human father, what did the BUG look like? It had to fit in the back seat of a typical car, as it had not yet become visible to the parent in question. This pic must have the child or at least a campy silhouette for scale, and extra points for putting background in. You have until Sat. 2/23 11:59pm.

********************
M2MM note:

Module 1 remains open, so if anyone wonders why it’s so specific, the source material is my story, “The Show Must Go Off,” in the scifi section of the Writer’s Room.

[Herr D]

Thank you! I’d forgotten about the HOTM nomination prize–.
Tenna was fun to make, and I’d often wondered about making a composite weapon like that.

[Herr D]

Drunk could probably look right with some careful shading and nothing else. Soft, angled sunrise light from the window to cast the right shadow. That may be the only way to fix the knees’ look. Fantastic work so far.

[Herr D]

A belated thank you to Keric for reminding me to make this card for my wife.

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/2013hm/HerrD-ValDayCard_zpsf65fb0e2.png

A human without love is like a . . . a . . . a sociopath? Nevermind. If you’re a human, be sure not to skimp. If you’re one of those ‘visitors’ to the human experience, make sure you’re registered for it on your itinerary.

[Herr D]

Chapter 6: Bonding Over Lies

Young Mike plugged in his hands-free ear wire, stuffed the bud in his left ear and answered the phone. He looked surprised.
“Yes sir? Um. Okay. Yes–she’s here. Hold on.” He put the phone in the cable basket between himself and Jennifer and handed the earbud to Jennifer, still practically juggling.
“For me?” Who even knows I’m here? Jennifer looked at the earbud. At least it looks clean. She put it in. “Hello?”
“Miss Duke?” Big boss alert!
“Yes, Mr. Crowe? You might call me Jennifer–I still don’t always know who Miss Duke is.”
Simon Crowe laughed. “Congratulations.”
What– “Thank you. For what?”
He laughed again. “I liked your entry for the new story best. Please call it ‘Zephyr’ from now on.”
Zephyr?! That wasn’t in the entries! Wh– Jennifer glanced sideways at Young Mike.
“Sh,” Young Mike said quietly.
“I–” she began.
“I numbered them,” said Mr. Crowe, “like your current driver requested. He didn’t fool me though.”
“Fool you?” Jennifer asked innocently. But he DID. Zephyr must have been HIS idea.
“I know you, Jennifer. And I know my nephew. No one had to tell me this is some sort of bet between the two of you. What are the stakes? I need you to tell me. I’ve explicitly told David there is to be no betting of money on the job.”
“We bet food items for the group. Not a whole lunch or anything.”
“Thank you. I should tell you that I know my nephew VERY well. I’ve tried to teach him how to run a business, but I’m afraid he feeds his ego and not his intellect. I have promised him his decisions about Backington Studios will stick. That means you may have to be careful. I know you two don’t get along well.” So, you’re not going to make him keep me. Didn’t think so.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making that clear. I know from –” She looked around at Shelley. “Before. I know from before that you talked about keeping opposing views nearby to learn from them.” How do I make this sound like it’s about something else? “Where in the list is Chinatown Ghost?”
Mr. Crowe laughed again. “Well done. You are actually good at this sort of intrigue. It is next to last. The worst one was Dixie Pixie. That was Tia’s?”
“Haha–you know it. Po put in ‘yokai’ and ‘sorei,’ where are they?”
“Third and fourth. But people might think we’re making ethnic comments, so I’m glad your entry won.”
“What was second?”
“The Backington Boogeyman. I have another call.”
“Goodbye Mr. Crowe.”
“Goodbye.” The phone clicked off. Jennifer didn’t even hunt for the right button, just wiped the earbud on her shirt and stuck it in Young Mike’s ear. He looked surprised. And slightly pink. Ooh, buddy can BLUSH. Cute!
“Thanks,” he said. And not used to getting any help with anything. Jennifer pondered his suspenders, his unfortunate plaid shirt, his Buddy Holly glasses, and his too-short haircut and stubble. “I’m looking over, a three-leaf clover, that I overlooked be-THREEEE. Bugs Bunny said it best.
“SO?!”
–DAH! “What is it, Shelley?”
“What was that about?”
Oops. “Did you put in Backington Boogeyman?”
“Yes.”
“It came in second.”
Shelley smiled. “Hey! Wait. What was that bit about opposing views?”
“Oh.” %^&*! She’s a good reporter; I shouldn’t forget that. “He knows it was a bet.”
Shelley’s smile disappeared and she looked worriedly at Jennifer. “Are you in trouble?”
“No more than I was. He likes people coming clean when he catches them.” Jennifer turned to face forward again and frowned at the screen. Zephyr. Not bad.
“What did you enter?”
Jennifer froze. She raised her eyebrows. “Um, if I’m gonna finish this–“
Mike smiled. “Don’t be too modest, Jennifer. She entered ‘Zephyr,’ and ‘Miasma,’ and Zephyr won.”
“What’s a miasma?”
Um?“Yeah, Mike, what’s a miasma?”
Shelley laughed.
“I’m not sure. So what are we doing when we get there? I’m guessing we won’t be flashing press cards.”
“Oh!” said Shelley, “Jennifer’s hanging bags of food from her canes and leading us up. I’m carrying the laptop and two dog pillows. You hide a camera in a box or something. We take ‘her’ stuff to her place and knock on the dog owner’s door, saying I have a dog pillow I don’t need. I’ll probably try to look like I’m fighting back tears and claim my dog died recently. Try to look sympathetic and either irritated or like you want to avoid the subject. Tell him where to park, but not too close. We don’t want people to see the passenger side of the van. Is that an ambulance?”
There was an ambulance parked in front of the building.

[Herr D]

Thank you, WMD. Your comments about the separation of media specialties really take me back. Did you know that early in human history, for example the ancient Greeks, artistry was frequently taught in separate media only as a part of a trade?
Hobbyists weren’t artists. The word ‘Poi-eet-eez’ as they may have pronounced it meant ‘maker.’ It may have applied equally to any art or craft. Our modern word ‘poet’ comes from it.

My muses have attention deficit disorder and like impersonating one another. It makes things difficult sometimes. I went to write a sonnet once . . . and the carving turned out well.

[Herr D]

Thanx. Feel free to elaborate. I like the acknowledgement ‘conceived by.’ I’m overbooked with my story Zephyr in S-Hero fiction, Writer’s Room, but if you like I’ll try to build a scientist trying to explain what she meant by the spiders. That I might squeeze in soon. Grouping can be it’s own set of challenges–

Hey is your name ‘Weapons of Mass Destruction Bass Player?’

[Herr D]

I’m guessing the song I reference above isn’t as well-known as I think it was.
I always hated it. So I tried to imagine it was good for something. What I came up with was that it caused an otherwise warlike species to be afraid of Earth and send us a Trojan Horse. But we know that one.
So don’t open it.
**************
From Universal Biologic Special: Humanoids of the Hairbrush Nebula.
Tenna Is In Trouble. Her people use a sort of blowpipe that they pump up with a mouthpiece and a squeeze-bladder. The release valve supplies a powerful burst indeed. The condensation of their breath is collected as well to be used in the darts. After all, nothing is more toxic to their prey, the ‘Chukturs’ Beasts, than water. They make all their garments and most of their non-metal weapons from their blue fur and dried green guts. The cliff lizard after her has a pretty good chance against her since she is off-balance and hasn’t drawn one of her knives yet.

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/2013hm/TennaInTrouble_zps99c63948.png

[Herr D]

@WMDBASSPLAYER said:

OK, as best as I can remember, I’m going to try the back story for Test Subject 002, again. I must admit, I like what Herr D came up with.

Thanx.

block10, generic amazon woman?

This is the survivor of a strange discovery at a construction site deep in the jungle [location redacted.] An operator of a front-end loader was digging a foundation hole when he came up with half a body. Understandably upset, he notified authorities. There was a family underground. The man was chopped in half, leaving the woman and two children in some sort of stasis. After examination, the woman suddenly woke up. No one seems to be able to fully communicate with her. We believe she understands the man is dead, and has conveyed that the children must not wake yet.
She constantly forages when allowed, searching for herbs and small animals, conveying signs that we believe mean ‘sick.’ When asked what keeps them in stasis, all she can do is show us spiders. . .

[Herr D]

Blue! Yes, indeedy, the starin’ Baron is glarin’ away very effectively. And belatedly, the ‘super-edit’ on your writing DOES help make sure more of the result is memorable by default–I know that one.

–If I don’t have a cool appearance, and may have reached a quarter million positive cool points, may I call myself an Iz?
I imagine the ‘a’ and the ‘n’ require Hollywood or actual heroics to earn while alive.

[Herr D]

Chapter 5: The Away Team

Jennifer had barely downloaded her text files when Shelley came bursting out of the stairwell, snapping shut her compact.
“Do you need an excuse to have guests? Should one of us be a relative?” She said breathlessly.
“Not enough hands,” said Jennifer, looking up to see Young Mike emerging from Mr. Crowe’s office. ALREADY?! If you were carrying my dessert from the refrigerator, and I was carrying the laptop–” She held down the power button and pulled it onto her lap. “Well–other way around.”
Shelley pulled out a keychain, waved it in the air, and put it beside the laptop. “Perfect,” she said. She dashed for the breakroom and wasn’t quite back when Young Mike practically blurred around Jennifer, grabbed her chair, and started for the freight elevator.
I’m gonna have to know stuff more often! This is cool!
It was halfway to being a circus act how Young Mike and Shelley wheeled Jennifer right off the end of the loading dock into the van without the ramp, trusting her to hold the laptop, Shelley taking things from Jennifer’s lap to the one rear seat while Young Mike strapped the office chair to an equipment locker and trotted around to start the van. It was surprisingly easy to half-swing from the rope handles hanging from the roof up to the front but a clumsy business for Jennifer to pull her legs around to the front seat, buckle in despite her wrist canes, and take the laptop and pillow on her lap while Young Mike drove out of the lot. Jennifer stared at Mike while he used his left hand to steer, signal, and sip from a water bottle while he used his right to shift, rummage through a basket of various cables, and feel the ends without looking until he said, “Ha – HA!” He plugged one end into the cigarette lighter and handed the other to Jennifer, who, unable to keep from smiling and shaking her head, plugged it into the laptop and began editing. Lunch traffic was ending by the time they reached Washington Street, and that’s when Shelley stopped stressing with her makeup and reached forward, stuffing rubber-banded bundles of mousepads between the laptop and the glove compartment above Jennifer’s knees. Ohhh. “Want one under your mouse elbow?”
“Yes, thanks.” Ironically, this is probably the easiest rewrite I’ve had in awhile. Imply, suggest, give a great fact, repeat.
“Why are you typing?” said Young Mike, “I thought all you did was graphics.”
Um, oops. “Have you SEEN Shelley’s typing? I edit just about everything we produce.”
“Ah.” Well, if you’ll buy it, I guess it’ll do.
“Why are you called ‘Young Mike?'” Hmmp. Nice smile.
“Mike Clarend has seniority. My name is Mike Claren with no ‘d,’ and both of us have the same middle name. I was ‘Old Mike’ in my college group.”
“Was there another Mike Clarend there?”
“A Mike McClaren.”
Yikes.
Young Mike’s phone rang at that moment.

[Author]

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