Modelling Feet

eeek got assessment for narrative next week.

tho it took two days, but i managed to turn the pilots boot like feet into toes and such :D.
next up more details and better joints for the rigging dun dun dunn










oh also make control panel for the plane.

Modelling Pilot Hands

XSI is fixed! and i've made hands/placed the guy in the plane to see what it will look like.
I like how the plane legs look like his legs and feet.
Currently making the control panel so he looks more squished, in the side view
(which is why there's odd shapes floating around the plane).
Reminder: never use the norton computer fixing thing again.

Narrative: Iris

Had weeks to do this 2 page task and still left it till the weekend before the lesson.
(okay some time was spent waiting for a copy of the Iris story, and I was concentrating on XSI)
Most of it made up of weird dreams i've had and things i've already noted down.

Still had kewl feedback tho which was something long the lines of:

It's like Alice in Wonderland but in a more sinister place.

(even thoIi think Alice in Wonderland is actually really sinister anyway)
tho rightly it was said still needs to be refined.
I can see lots of fixable mistakes
(i can calculate a week or 3 of proof reading and correcting it)

bah tho my xsi is broken won't be able to carry on my pilot/plane till im back in modelling class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One milky moon filled night I was resting after a hard days work when I heard an echo of a whisper. These are usually words speedily spoken behind closed doors and are rumors, paranoia, secrets and plans, spoken only to hidden ears. Even so, sometimes these words escape seeking out new owners for safekeeping within private thoughts. The whisper I heard was very primal, causing a chill to rise up my spine. The words twinkled like silver in my ears and spoke of promised happiness in a place where there was no responsibility and only easy living. Something in my heart warned me that such a place was foolishness but my mind was crackling with the very idea of escape, so I took it.
I got into my car and drove out of the city leaving everything behind, my friends, my family and my possessions.
Soon the orange lights from street lamps dwindled as I entered the eerie silence of the countryside, the only sign of life was the reflection of beastly eyes in my cars headlights.

I pulled the car over into a cornfield and stood outside an old twisted weather-beaten forest. The trees took no notice of me, continuing to creak and whine as I followed an old crumbling path into the belly of darkness. At first, the place was dull littered with crisp packets and other items of human interference, but soon the crunch of the leaves got thicker, while the forest got darker still and the path was steadily disappearing into the undergrowth.

As I was thinking this whole notion was just a ploy of my mind, a simple wild imagination created by wistful thinking, I had reached the small clearing.
Its beauty was stunning, there was ivory crawling over the rough ruins of an old cottage, and its old tiny and neat garden had gone completely wild, now occupying most of the forest floor. Even in the dark, I could see the wondrous colours from an array of sweet smelling flowers. The purple bubbles of lavender, the silky white snowdrops, puffy red tulips and the sticky yellow honeysuckle. All of these flowers glowed with a delightful hum welcoming all eyes to experience their majesty and power.
However, no matter how long I stared, I was an intruder in this place. Like a large clumsy oaf I walked past the crowds of flowers, my footsteps fumbled to avoid crushing them but the more I did this the more I disturbed the surrounding environment. I managed to reach the center of the garden where the small frosty pool rested. I closed my eyes, thought back to the whispers, and stepped onto the frozen pool. With a crack and a snap the ice, the world and everything around me shattered into a million pieces, all I could see was sharp crystallized colours of red and green while my head howled in pain. Before long this sensation of being squeezed in a tightening vice faded as if it was falling into a bottomless pit.
I stumbled to awake, the clearing had become a bright garden in daytime, all the flowers were in tidy well-kept borders, and the ruins had turned into an old white wash cottage.
I walked towards the cottage, through the gate and over the cracked paving slabs, squeezing the buds of lavender as I passed. Inside I saw many rooms, some were quite normal decorated with tiny ornaments and furniture. While others were plain bizarre, as if everything inside was made of chocolate and candy.
No matter what was in each room I knew each one personally, as if they existed in some faded memory or past trauma. I kept walking past room after room until I saw a one that was completely out of place, an old run down kitchen with rusted pipes and paint pealing away at the walls. From within I could hear a mighty howl of a laugh, which was more animal than human sending a chill down my spine.
However, I could not resist entering the room for a quick look.
Inside sitting around a hard oblong table, was an array of strange creatures. They took no notice of me as they scoffed down the food from their plates.
At this table, sat a strange hairless man sized rabbit, it would hand shove sticky food into its mouth and then erupt into a howling laugh. This would cause skin on its face to stretch back, making the veins and the skull to become sickingly visible.
Next to it was a sobbing mime artist, its hair billowed up like black candy floss, while tears ran down its face, smudging the cracked and dry make up. The creature would make feeble attempts to eat, but the sobbing just caused half-eaten food to dribble out back onto the plate. The third creature was some kind of great green monster with an owls face. It had a billion small arms and legs, which would slosh around cups of wine and ale. After each gulp of wine, its bulging stomach would swish and rumble causing the creature to spew out a lingering burp. The other creatures were half imagined messes of odd shapes and mixed matched body parts from various animals, they struggled to eat what was on their plates.
Suddenly I felt a sickening sharp pain in the pit of my stomach and I became overwhelmed by a hunger I have never felt before. I quickly reached down, ate one of the fairy cakes, and tasted its sweet and sugary lemon icing.
Just then, the room fell silent, and all the creatures took notice of me.

The hairless rabbit stopped laughing and changed its expression to bitter disgust causing the skin to wrinkle and crease back over its face. The mime artist continued to cry but now was shivering and twitching uncontrollably. The great green owl monster and other creatures stayed dead silent and pierced me with a single gaze.
It was then I remembered these were the imaginary creatures from my childhood, once much happier jolly creations but now bitter, twisted and insane.
Almost in sync, a nasty twisted grin cracked along the faces of every beast and I had no idea why and I didn’t wait to find out. I fled from the room through the house back to the garden, I felt foolish in thinking I could go back to the simple times of my youth the place was now dangerous and angered by my selfish abandonment years ago.
I leapt back into the tiny pool and once again, the world shattered around me until I was back within the dark silent forest.
I shivered, the air felt more chilled and I could see my own breath in front of me. I stammered around trying to re discover the path back home, when I heard large rustlings all around me.
My ordeal was not over yet.

Modelling: Plane & Pilot

Managed to model more and i'm in the sand temple in Zelda. Working on my Essay work also

Narrative Break. Modelling Head

Narrative class has ended for holidays, but currently still got the xsi uni project to play with

Narrative: Short Tale The Reader

He sat down and read.
Nothing else existed but the world he held in his hands and he surveyed its landscape. It was hard to tell if he was looking at the place described, because he had just started the book and hadn’t gotten used to the writers style yet.
Anyway he read on.
It was a dark forest and in front of him lay a vast path, which was clearly losing the territorial battle for space. He strode on forwards not knowing where he was going. The crunch of the leaves got thicker while the forest got darker still and soon he had lost all sense of direction. Suddenly the realism of the situation struck him hard as all the squeals and squeaks of the night creatures got louder. There was a loud crack behind him and he darted round to see nothing but a thick thicket. Maybe it was a small bird? Or something much worse and horrid, he didn’t wait to find out and turned away quickly before he could set eyes on the thicket monster.
Suddenly the forest came alive with the sound of excessive hoovering and he was snapped out and away from the forest floor. There was nothing but still silent words facing back at his face and a cup of tea lovingly placed on the table next to him. So with a quick sip and a seat adjustment, he immersed himself back into the forest and the journey went on.

Narrative: Write short opening scene

Int: Dark room: Night

So far we’re in the sheriffs office in a Unnamed town. The town has a moderate crime rate. The room is dark but your eyes adjust tot he darkness with help from the lights outside.

A man walks into a Dark Room and lights an oil lamp. As the room slowly gets lighter he looks around and notices another man sitting on a chair near the window. This man is holding a shotgun and is looking out the window towards the saloon opposite, his expression is serious. He is the sheriff.

The man that walked in

What’s the matter Joe?

Joe

(not looking away from the window)
I got word that McGreason is in Town

The man that walked in

Shit what's he doing here?!

Joe

Drinking at the bar

The man that Walked in

Phew well thats a fine thing for us then...isn’t it?

Joe

No

ExT: Shot of the Saloon from window POV: Night

Joe

It aint

Int: Saloon from the inside, shot facing the bar: night

The Bar is mostly full of drunks, some are playing poker while others chat in dark corners. All of them are local townsfolk both men and women.

McGreason sits alone at the bar, while drunks carry on with their own activities ignoring this stranger.
McGreason is slowly swirling his drink, which has been poured into a woman's drinking glass.
The sweaty bartender is nervously looks around the room, maybe after all his years behind a bar he can sense trouble.
McGreason gives a quick glance around the room and clicks his knuckles on the bar. He stops to look at a group of angry looking drunks talking in the corner of the room ,but is disappointed when they start laughing at some kind of joke. Turning back to his drink, obviously annoyed at this towns so called reputation, he goes to drink, when a stupid drunk slumps next to him and exclaims.

Stupid drunk

What kind of sissy assed fool drinks fr-

Before he can finish McGreason has already smashed the glass in the mans face. The drunk flails backwards into a table screaming, clawing his face. McGreason kicks the man to the ground and goes in to step on the mans fingers. When he notices how the mans face is swelling unnaturally and turning blue.
The whole place is dead still but McGreason notices two sudden movements. Firstly someone heading towards to exit fast and the barman pouring the a bottle away fast. Pulling out his revolvers quicker than lightning he shots the barman and the person running away (in the leg). After this point, everyone in the room rushes out the back way not wanting to be the ones shot next. While McGreason walks towards the injured kid by the door, who cant be older than 19 or 21.
He picks the kid up by the face and asks

McGreason

What son of a bitch sent you to poison me

He punches the kid hard in the chest and picks him back up by the collar. The kid coughing like mad suddenly stops to say something.

EXT: night: outside the saloon

Hold the shot for a few seconds with silence.

The saloon doors burst open and a loud shot is fired towards the doors. A large figure throws a body aside. Someone else swears into the night.

McGreason slowly walks towards to a nearby tied up horse, which doesn’t seem to be bothered by the loud noises.

int: night: inside the SHERIFFS office

Medium Close up of his hands.

Joe fumbles to re load his gun

EXT: night: outside the saloon

McGreason mounts the horse

Int: night: inside the sheriffs office

medium shot of joe.

The sheriff finally re loads and lifts the gun to take another shot, but the target is gone, leaving a dead man and the sound of a horse riding away.
Joe sighs being annoyed (it his horse) and relieved (he’s still alive). He nearly states to his deputy how they got off lucky, when there’s an explosion from inside the bar.

ext: night: outside the sheriffs office and saloon

aerial shot

And as the saloon is a raging fireball. You see two men run out of a building opposite the saloon, and a man on horseback heading out of town.

Narrative: Salmon

Salmon poem a part of concrete poetry task

Salmon

I Swim,

I Swim,

And I Swim.

Through peaceful seas,

And gentle waves.

Which sway me,

Up and

Down,

And up

And down.

I snap up the smaller fish,

I avoid the bigger fish.

And I Swim.

And I Swim.

And I Swim.

Then the seas start to chill and change.

And I return to the river that first bore me.

I swim against its current,

I swim over its rapids,

And I swim along the curving course.

I avoid the sharp rocks,

I avoid the bears,

Till finally I reach the pool.

Which looks much smaller now.

I find a mate,

And we lay our eggs.

And I sleep,

And I sleep,

And I sleep.

Narrative: 50 ways to...

there was a slideshow but that still in iphoto.

50 ways to Survive Farnham

For some unknown reason, you’ve found yourself in Farnham town and at a first glance it’s a nice and peaceful countryside town. However, this image is a deception because in reality the place wishes to snare weary travellers. My advice would be to leave now and visit a far safer place, but if you’re determined to stay I advice you follow these fifty ways to survive Farnham.

1) Stay away from the Cafés. All food and drink in Farnham is exceptionally over priced and you’ll need the money for the journey home.

2) Never Drive. Never travel by car in Farnham because you will never find a parking spot and be forever trapped in a traffic jam.

3) Don’t rely on the bus service. Ignore the bus stop signs in Farnham or you’ll be waiting for a bus that will never arrive.

4) Use the Train Station. When travelling on foot always use the train station for escape, it will take you back to civilization or Aldershot.

5) Stay off the roads. Or middle class mothers in Landrovers will run you down.

6) Never stay longer than a day. If you stay longer than 24hours you’ll start to age uncontrollably until you’re too feeble to leave.

7) Never trust the residents. The folk of Farnham are notorious liars and will only give out false advice.

8) Ask the Pigeons. If you’re looking for something in particular ask the pigeons they are both wise and noble creatures.

9) Watch your step. Be careful of what you do or say in Farnham, it is watching you.

10) Don’t fall asleep. Farnham is filled with art students who prey on sleepy travellers for their art show and sculptures.

11) Follow Mad Eric. If your lost and wish to find the train station we advice following Mad Eric but don’t get too close or he’ll whack you with his cane.

12) The town is haunted. Be wary of troublesome ghosts, they roam the streets at night looking for a victim to trick.

13) Stay away from Demonic mice. The vermin in Farnham are hellish creatures stay away from them or *slide of demonic mouse eating the guide*

Something Old

nothing was handed in last week so here's something old

Narrative: Love Poem

Second entry. The next task was to write a love poem, but not being someone who can write poetry i delayed writing it and it was a little rushed.

In a soft winters night,

Under a pale moon light.

The two of us walk,

Unable to talk.

We’re stuck in a daze,
and our hearts are ablaze.

Our love has begun,

It will not be undone.

Together we seek a fabled Chateau,

I wonderful place filled with Red Bordeaux.

We find ourselves by the Cherry tree,

and dance among its petal debris.
We are two of a kind,

Our hearts are entwined.

I don’t care for paradise anymore,

You’re the only one I will care for.

We are two souls lost,

On separate paths which have crossed.

Forever we shall walk side by side,

Forever with you I will confide.

Intro & Narrative: Current News edge on Tale of Two Cities

This page is looking abit dead (never been good at blogging)So finally i have something to post!

I've started a module of narrative strategies and our teacher suggested we show our progress online.
So I've decided to dump mine online so i can show my writing to people i send this link to (facebook is yet to build an app to publish work for friends to view)

This short was first piece for the class, the challenge was to write a brief "A tale of two cities" story based on current news events. I picked The Writers Strike.



It was another meeting with the producer. Another day in a poorly decorated room, stuck with a man incapable to care about the written word. Michael hated this place, the dull grey walls sucked all life and creativity out of his soul, while the producer would blather on about ratings and marketing figures. Today he was absently staring at the producer’s glossy white teeth while the senseless man talked on about the latest script. It was the ending the producer had a problem with, he felt the audience would want a hap-pier ending where Sydney Carton would be rescued by his friend Charles Darnay. He even went as far as saying this new ending would be a far far better thing. Michael wanted to resist, he wanted to stand up and stop the butchering of a classic but he couldn’t. There was no way he could afford a rebellion on his paycheck and as a writer he was easily replaceable. This lifestyle was starting to become routine, he could almost call the room his second home and no matter how these meetings went they always ended the same

“I’ll have it finished for you by Monday.”

It’s a late Sunday evening and the rhythmic tapping of rain buzz’s in Michaels mind as he stares at the blank page. He calls out for the right words to appear, but the vacant page just grins back re-fusing to give up its secrets. Michael’s inner demon carries on its taunts refusing to allow him a moment of peace. The phone started to ring, the rain kept battling against the window and the clock carried on ticking but the page stayed blank. Michael had no time for answering phones the script needed to be finished and fast, but his wits had betrayed him. There was no other hope apart from the screwed up ball of paper lying on his bedroom floor. He reached down and straightened the paper out. It was covered in the producer’s blocky handwriting instructing Michael on how to finish his script. Michael sighed and began to type only stopping to glance back at the producer’s notes. Soon the rained slowed and the answering machine recorded the message, which simply said

“Don’t forget the 5th of November”.

It’s a bright Monday morning and Michael was pacing between his writing desk and the front door. It was no surprise he had forgotten about the strike his calendar was buried under a pile of unopened bank letters and unfinished screenplays, but that didn’t change the fact that today was the 5th. He stopped and looked down at the script sitting on his desk, excluding the ending it was his best writing to date. However, today was strike day and any kind of work activity wouldn’t put him in the good books with the WGA. The demon in his mind started to stir, it whispered Michael’s the collection of fears and worries causing him to resume pacing up and down. It was too soon for him to strike, if he was out of the job then there would be no means for him to survive here. Maybe he could hand in the new script and secretly keep on writing for the company under a fake name? There were barely any choices and there were too many consequences.
He knew the easy route was to fall back into those four grey walls, living only to mindlessly follow orders till the next deadline. For that reason Michael kept walking for the door, nothing would stop him now. He had picked the difficult road full of uncertainly and danger, the place where he would finally be free.