Today’s Inktober is a weird little doodle I made out of coffee (I’m in a rush today). It was kind of funny to see where my brush was taking me. This is NOT my usual style at all.
Coffee Man, by Monica Marier 2015, for sale, $40
Inktober Day 6 is a special picture Mythgard Community, specifically the ones who play Lord of the Rings Online. It’s one of the game avatars of the Tolkien Professor, Corey Olsen, Wigend. He’s reciting one of his favorite catchphrases.
Wigend, by Monica Marier 2015
I’ll be using a higher-resolution version of this for some Mythgard-related items. So stay tuned for that!
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why you don’t ask your friends to “challenge you.” I put out a general shout-out on Facebook for drawings of my original characters in various states and my friend Danny Valentini asked if I could do a picture of his Donuts For Looking analogue, Barney Valentine…NAKED. And so this happened.
Italian Nude with Cherry Blossoms, by Monica Marier
Now, I’m only guessing at most of the details here, but being Italian myself I think I’m on the right track. He reminds me of “Bellini” from Kids in the Hall.
I leave you with these parting words, “Curse you, Danny. CURSE YOU.”
Well, I’ve seen the Omen several times, so I decided to finally watch the sequel…
Damien Omen II, 20th Century Fox
I have to say, this one is slightly less of a thrill ride. The pacing is pretty slow, and the movie relies more on stunning color pallets and gorgeous location shots than it does on plot.
Apart from that, I like that we got to know Damien’s character as he’s starting to grow up and discovering his dark powers. Johnathin Scott-Taylor’s performance as the 12-year-old antichrist is really captivating and heartbreakingly sympathetic at times. I also love that we get to see another huge classic actor like William Holden take the reins as the next father figure/martyr. Plotwise, I had to laugh because it’s almost like a very dark version of Harry Potter.
“Yer a Wizard, Harry.”
The only thing I didn’t like was that we spent so much time with “Uncle Rich’s” work and a lot of side plot-lines that seemed disconnected and didn’t really seem to go anywhere except to provide us with a body-count. The deaths themselves were also faster, bigger, splashier, and in the end more cartoony than interesting, because they had to top Patrick Troughton’s skewering and David Warner’s decapitation. I laughed at every cheesey death, where with the first Omen movie, I gasped. They could have trimmed all that and added more scenes of Damien bumping off classmates and teachers while discovering himself as a man to make it better. Like discovering girls…
“…and then I set her on fire!” Hahahahaha!
I’ll probably go ahead and watch the Omen III and IV to see how I like the over-arching story, but maybe I’ll do it later.
Day 2 of the Inktober Challenge, and here is an attempt at Quince the Barbarian. Big Muscley men are very strange to draw because their proportions always seem, just WRONG. I even did this with a photo-reference and I remember looking at all the photos of muscley men and thinking they just look like cartoons, and made of clay. Oh well. Minimal lines, since I intend to colour this. See you all tomorrow.
Let’s start this Inktober with a bang! Here’s a piece I’ve wanted to do since I reread the Silmarillion. I finally got around to doing, Melkor and Ungoliant destroying the two trees. There’s supposed to be big tree roots in the foreground, but I think I’m going to do those in the computer and not risk damaging the original.
I certainly can’t promise that my other inktober pieces will be this detailed, but I’m glad I got one big splashy piece in. See you all tomorrow for Day 2 of Inktober and Carpe Scream.
Melkor and Ungoliant Destroy the Trees, by Monica Marier, pen and alcohol marker on paper. For Sale: $90
Okay, here we go again! Leaves are fluttering in the air, a cold damp wind is shaking the windows, and I’m coughing up green junk, it must be time for…
Yesiree, Bob. There will be 31 days of 31 drawings, some quick sketches, some detailed works, others assignments masquerading as frivolity. In this I hope to hone my skills as an inker and maybe stop hating inking as a chore in general. For FULL information on inktober, please click the graphic which will take you to mrjakeparker.com and the originator of the Inktober initiative.
In addition to Inktober, and as a way to school myself in the genre, I will ALSO be attempting my own challenge:
The rules are as follows
And I leave the interpretation of “horror” to you all entirely. It can be a pyschological thriller, or a comedy or family feature. It can even be from a TV series, as long as it has a halloweeny feel to it. I did this last year and I had so much fun watching the movies (that I’d otherwise be too squeamish to watch) and picking up a better appreciation for the industry and the art of horror.
So get your playlists ready, and your pens uncapped.
October is going to be a wicked fun month!
~Monica Marier
I’m finding more and more that people expect me, as a woman writer, to write more things that will change the world, question cultural norms and in all other ways make the patriarchy rattle their sabers.
I’m always asked, “but what are you trying to SAY? What’s the MESSAGE?”
Really, I just want to write funny stuff with characters I like (and I hope you like), but I’m always questioned on why I wasn’t “addressing issues,” or taking a political/feminist stance on life today.
Look, guys, EQUAL RIGHTS is me being able to write something funny, and not to have people question why I’m wasting valuable time that could be spent proselytizing.
No masks and no compromises. I don’t want the only time I’m in the spotlight to be when I’m standing on a soapbox.
He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld the portly gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and said,’ Scrooge and Marley’s, I believe.’ It sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
`My dear sir,’ said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands. `How do you do. I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you, sir.’
`Mr Scrooge.’
`Yes,’ said Scrooge. `That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness’ — here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
`Lord bless me.’ cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away. `My dear Mr Scrooge, are you serious.’
`If you please,’ said Scrooge. `Not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favour.’
`My dear sir,’ said the other, shaking hands with him. `I don’t know what to say to such munificence.’
`Don’t say anything please,’ retorted Scrooge. `Come and see me. Will you come and see me.’
`I will.’ cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it.
`Thank you,’ said Scrooge. `I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you.’
He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk — that anything — could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew’s house.
He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it:
`Is your master at home, my dear.’ said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl. Very.
`Yes, sir.’
`Where is he, my love.’ said Scrooge.
`He’s in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I’ll show you up-stairs, if you please.’
`Thank you. He knows me,’ said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. `I’ll go in here, my dear.’
He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right.
`Fred.’ said Scrooge.
Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started. Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn’t have done it, on any account.
`Why bless my soul.’ cried Fred,’ who’s that.’
`It’s I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred.’
Let him in. It is a mercy he didn’t shake his arm off. He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, wonderful happiness.
But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late. That was the thing he had set his heart upon.
And he did it; yes, he did. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.
His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o’clock.
`Hallo.’ growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. `What do you mean by coming here at this time of day.’
`I am very sorry, sir,’ said Bob. `I am behind my time.’
`You are.’ repeated Scrooge. `Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please.’
`It’s only once a year, sir,’ pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. `It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.’
`Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend,’ said Scrooge,’ I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,’ he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again;’ and therefore I am about to raise your salary.’
He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.
`A merry Christmas, Bob,’ said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. `A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year. I’ll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob. Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit.’
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!
Monica Marier Author 