Tag Archives: novel

I’m being a Shitty Writer.

by in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Alright ladies and gentlemen, listen the fuck up please.

These last few sample chapters I’ve been posting have been utter shit- just…fuckin’ diarrhea, fresh from my ass, onto my keyboard, through my screen, and directly into your eyes and I am sorry. So, what Im gonna do. Is overhaul each and every single chapter I’ve posted on this website (Except for Warrior Shaman. it needs to be edited, sure. But I KNOW I nailed that shit to the fuckin’ WALL YO) until awesome and then re-post them one by one, whether you like it or not.

I am sorry for my shitty work. I forgot that it is very easy to become those shit spewing, self centered asshole writers I am always slamming on. And THAT. Is not something I ever want to become. Never.

Peace bitches YEAH   8======D

MODERN WARFARE, YEAH

Sample Chapter: Path of the Wizard

by in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

You know this dance by now. Here’s a sample chapter from another novella. Remember, all these sample chapters are rough drafts. They haven’t even been proofread yet.

All ideas and concepts and all that other shit by Will Truex — The Disfigured, 2013

 

“Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“The ground. It’s rumbling. Moving beneath our feet.” He gathered his robes and lifted them, looking at his bare and dirty feet. Pebbles had begun to move. “See? See? Look Ronah!”

Ronah looked below her, her robes shorter than her brother’s. Sure enough, the pebbles were starting to move, and the tremors started to become more intense. A thunderclap of footsteps approached from the west, and a train of birds flew without direction away from the disturbance.  The distinct sound of snapping wood got louder and louder.

“A giant?” Ronah said.

“A giant.” Her brother said.

“Is it headed towards Melgor?” Ronah asked.

“No, no. No. It’s headed towards the college. Look.”

A colossal humanoid crashed through the forest, causing the two siblings to run for cover. It carried a massive spine from an unknown creature as its club with thick bands of iron bent and jammed amongst the vertebrae, probably scavenged from the hull of a galleon. It reeked of body odor and dirt, its skin greasy with sweat and grime. It wore only a loincloth.

This was no ordinary giant.

Well over the canopy of the forest, the beast’s face could only be seen from the underside. The siblings watched in absolute horror as its loathsome nostrils flared, sniffing the air. It wasn’t long before they got a good look at the abomination’s face as it snapped its eyes to their hiding spot. The giant’s face was twisted in feverish anger, its lips curled back revealing two rows of tiny, blunt teeth in the front. Its eyes widened, the lenses glowing as the light shifted.

The siblings clutched at one another, paralyzed with fear. The giant new they were there it seemed, but couldn’t pinpoint where. A massive bead of sweat rolled off its nose, crashing to the forest floor. A plume of dust and pine needles rose before them not ten feet away.

“Geryl, we have to distract it.” Ronah whispered.

“How?” Geryl returned. “Be quiet.”

The giant crushed them with his hand. It ground their corpses into the dust, and then licked the gore clean from its palm. It stood erect once more, peering over the canopy, and saw the College of Demonic Studies in the distance. The giant screamed in fury and ran full speed at the structure.

The college was thrown into panic when the lookouts saw the giant coming. All except one. He crossed the courtyard deliberately, gently pushing the panicking students and faculty to the side. He step out from the main gate just as it closed, and started to walk towards the giant’s warpath.

His robes were black with silver hemming, the garb of a master. His face was stoic before such violence, and a hot desert breeze pushed sand into his graying beard. His eyes hid beneath his brow, the brim of his hat protecting his eyes from the glare off the bone white sand. He stopped moving about a hundred feet from the college’s front gate. He dropped his walking stick, and rolled his sleeves up.

It was a struggle to keep his footing as beast charged forward, its terrible club held high, its roar like demonic thunder. He winced at the sheer volume of it, but stood his ground. The wizard’s right hand balanced a turbulent sphere of energy that hummed and churned with unbelievable power. He cast his hand out, and a sphere flew from his hand faster than an arrow, aimed right for the creature’s right kneecap.

It hit home, making the beast trip and fall. The wizard did nothing, standing there. The chaos and screaming from the college had fallen silent. They were all watching this wizard fight the raw fury of nature, hand to hand- mind to mind.

The giant rose with alarming speed, and changed his target. It roared at the wizard, an object of its pain and fury. It swung its club downward upon the wizard. It lifted the club to see if his target was dead, but there was nothing in the massive impact crater his swing had created. The wizard reappeared on the beast’s left flank, immediately drawing its attention  and provoking another swing. The wizard pushed his palms out, clenching his teeth. A massive pillar of sand rose and flew forward like a cannonball, aimed directly for the giant’s fist clutching the club. It’s hand flew backwards with the force of the strike, the club flying backwards and down into the Abyssal Maw.

Now infuriated, the giant charged the wizard with its fists clenched, its eyes wide and vacant, its mouth foaming. The wizard lifted his hands into the air and ignited two double helix shaped pillars of fire. He clenched his fists, all the while the giant still getting closer, and smashed them together. The shockwave knocked the giant off balance, and when it regained its footing, the wizard launched a twisting column of searing hot fire from the middle of his outstretched arms. The smashed into the giant’s face, making it howl in agony and stumble away from the flames.

When it pulled his hands from its face, a charred skull grinned back at the wizard; the giant’s face had been completely burned off. It started to advance, and then collapsed face first into the sand. It wasn’t long before it stopped breathing.

The wizard pulled his sleeves back down and picked up his walking stick. “Fuck you, cocksucker.” He said, and walked back to the college.

New Projects, Old Ideas

by in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

I have an idea.

I’ve been working a lot on Blestemul, but I’ve never undertaken a project this big before (it’s a long book, that’s all) and I find myself getting bored. Not to the point where I want to stop, mind you. No way. But I need something different to occupy my brain. I need to create something new. I don’t know why, and maybe? I don’t wanna know. But enough of that. Here’s my idea.

I’m thinking of creating a book, or a series of novellas, based on one character that is untouchable. Not invincible, untouchable. Undefeatable. And a whole shit ton of more -ables to come. Don’t think about the character, though. Think about this instead. What would you do if you could pursue any personal objective/mission/quest and know that you could not be stopped? I am creating a character that has no physical flaws, none, and can literally achieve any objective he puts his mind to.

Where’s the fun in that? Well. That’s the second part of my idea.

I plan to use this character as a way to express protest against modern issues and ideals for my own personal satisfaction. Think about all the travesties in the world. Think about all the people starving, dying, murders, rape, abuse, war, killing, destruction, etc. Think about how powerless you feel sometimes about these issues. Now imagine yourself being able to tackle these problems, alone, and solving them however you wished. Knowing full well that your agenda cannot be stopped. That’s the kind of character that I making, and that is the “lofty” goal I wish to achieve.

Say this plan takes off. I have a few more ideas that I want to put into play to see what happens. Just to find out how things will end up.

Humans for the most part cannot change the world. Activism, protest, petitions. They do good, true, but there aren’t enough well wishes, likes on facebook, donations, or philanthropists to solve the biggest problems we face everyday. War, for one, cannot be stopped by anything. But. What if you were the only thing that could stop it? What would you do?

That’s what this new book(s) will be exploring. The will of one man and that cannot be stopped, and how he can change the world. Am I writing it as an inspiration piece? Not really. In all honesty, I just really want to write about killing and maiming the enemies of humanity.

Writing with a Weapon

by in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Events in the world today make me fucking sick.

As humanity drags itself along a shattered glass highway, leaving a trail of shit and blood for us all to follow, I cannot help but feel a glimmer of rage that burns until nothing but hatred is left behind. Hate is a strange thing. Directed, it can change the world. Unsupervised, it can destroy it- but let’s not talk about hate right now. Let’s talk about what we can do in a world that wants to keep us all under control.

The pen is mightier than the sword, I’ve heard. And I think that’s bullshit. A sword is something that we can all understand, a symbol of violence and death, or a symbol of order and justice. Or pick your own meaning. No, the pen isn’t mightier than the sword. They are both tools, and the sword is clearly the better tool. The writer is the real lethal weapon. Rather the mind, the human mind, so hopelessly complex and always changing, always shrouded in mystery. There is the true weapon. Creation. Imagination.

One could read into the above phrase and discern what I have said, but at its bare face value, I’ve always hated that godamn phrase. It’s so…one sided and ambiguously frank. Why write with a pen and ignore the sword? Why not write with a sword?

Write with a sword.

I like to wield writing as a weapon. I like to administer punishment for the people who read my work. Force atonement. Just once, just once with one piece of work. As I peer into the abyss that is this planet and all the humans on it, I find that the inky black soup that has become our collective soul as a species churns with violence and anger. Opinions, words, thoughts, they are lost in that abyss.

Me? I don’t think I’ll change the world. Or maybe I’m being humble. Or maybe, changing the world is my goal, but I don’t think I’m up to the task. Or maybe I’m just blowing a thick column of smoke up your ass. Smoke that comes from a special source- a pile of burning bullshit.

Who knows. Who cares? Not me.

Wield writing as a weapon, godamn you. I see too many writers censoring themselves, lacking confidence, lying to themselves, procrastinating. It makes me sick. Writers used to be hard and desperate people, not the elevated “literary” pseudo-intellectuals that enjoy the sound of their own voice, a voice that sounds to me like a sloppy shit.

Teachers, professors, literary agents, publishers, editors. They all tell you to write a certain way, to be refined, to make changes where you don’t want to make changes, to write what they want you to write, all the meanwhile, you are dying. Your creativity is dying. Why be refined? Why submit to format? Who gives a flying fuck about MLA rules? Citing your sources correctly? Who fuckin’ cares if my essay doesn’t have a godamn intro, body, and conclusion? Who the fuck are you to tell me how I should be fuckin’ writing? Nobody, that’s who.

Fuck the teachers. The professors, the literary agents, the publishers, editors, bosses, friends, acquaintances, proofreaders, police, politicians, fuck ’em all! They all seek to stifle your voice with formatting, rules, and/or censorship. No, no, no, use your writing like a weapon. Wield what you write, don’t read it! Where is your spine as a writer? Where has your fucking fire gone?

Get dirty! Write violence, fucking, dying, breeding- write what you feel and only what you feel, and if someone doesn’t like it, who. Gives. A. Flying. Fuck?

My next project is going to be just that. It is going to be a piece, or pieces, of writing that will be written with a sword. Too long have we all conformed to what our “teachers” and “leaders” have told us. I am writing a piece that will attack, that will punish, that will make people think differently through personal connection, or by completely hating me.

Do I want attention? I don’t know. All I know is I’m going to write without boundaries anymore. Without rules. I’m going to strike this planet with my words, and inflict the pain and anger that I have screaming inside of me that I cannot let out. I am going to write like a savage, and there is nothing this fuckin’ world and all its bullshit can do to stop me.

Don’t let it stop you, either.

Approaching the Zenith

by in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Anticipation builds as I approach the most climatic moments of Blestemul.

As a writer, I find these feelings difficult to deal with. Sometimes, I can accept them. Channel them. Sometimes, the thought of finishing a book, or writing along to the end is very intimidating. It’s not the size of the project (a book is done when it’s done) its the…well fuck. I don’t know what it is. It’s a weird backwards anxiety that wants to be embraced and ignored all at the same time.

Writing hand to hand combat scenes, gunfights, large scale battles, these are things that are well, once again, intimidating. The violence and intensity, and the utter intimacy of combat is difficult to capture. And I still don’t know if I am doing it well enough. And it’s not just action sequences- there are many large and powerful plot points that are coming up, ones that will completely change the face of the book and allow it to go into a different direction. There’s a lot of pressure there, but then again, all I’m doing is tellin’ a story.

But that point is trivial. The feelings are still there.

Big moments in books come in many shapes and sizes, and they are all a little scary to face and actually flesh out. You name it: love scenes, loss scenes, pivotal parts where your protag meets your antag, killing important characters, dialogue, oh the list goes on and on, and every author worth their salt meets these challenges head on and the good ones execute with precision and merciless vocabulary. And the gravity of these plot points can be daunting to anyone that means to tell a story. But it must be done.

I guess the purpose of this entry was mostly confessional. I talk harsh, violent, and to the point, but I’m still a human wrapped in a greasy shell of meat, and I can still feel fear. Anxiety. Sheepish. And…I think that’s okay. Such vulnerabilities makes a better author, which in tern makes a better book. What about you?

How do you deal with such pivotal points in your stories? Novel or no, you’ve faced these challenges in fiction, and in different forms with non. Confess to us all. You’ll feel better.

And you’ll be a better writer for it.

Creating Natural Dialogue

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul and tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Dialogue can be difficult.

I think the hardest part about it is making it seem natural. In all honesty, a writer is simply an individual that talks to him/herself. So when you’re just talking to yourself, how the hell can you create good dialogue? I took a gander on the internet to see if other people had tips, or stories to share. One link I found was pretty good. I usually stand against NaNoWriMo materials, but this one seemed pretty on par.

But, I didn’t read all of it. Couldn’t be bothered cuz I really didn’t give a shit, but you may. I don’t think I’m the master of dialogue. In fact, I fuckin’ hate writing it. It’s annoying, and it NEVER completely feels naturally to me, even when I’m reading the works of supposed “masters”.  Once again, I fucking HATE writing dialogue, but it’s something that must (should?) be done.

Dialogue usually comes in good moments. Or at least I’ve found that. I’ll have days where things just fit between two characters. I don’t have to think, and their personalities literally allow a conversation. But let’s be real, shall we? I’m simply talking to myself. So here’s something I try that actually works pretty well.

Literally, I speak dialogue out loud (when alone, or one the shitter hopefully alone) like I’m rehearsing a part for a play, or movie. I’m tellin’ you, it works for me. It works, and I’m gonna stick with it. Sometimes, I play out entire plot points in real time. Often in the car. I’ll choreograph fight scenes, plan conversation/confrontation, and see how they play out. Also, you have to know your characters.

That is one thing I can say with confidence. I know my characters very well, and when they surprise me, I’m delighted. These sudden left turns add definition to a character, and keeps readers interested while punishing them at the same time. Also, being an only child with OCD, my imagination is stronger than my concept of reality, and it helps me weave decent stories and dialogue. Fuck, I hate writing it so much I had to find a way to make it fun for myself.

What about you? How do you create dialogue? Plot? How do you move the story along?

Kone 2.0 Concept Art and…Other Things

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul, Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Life is one long stretch of time where shit happens that is good and bad.

True is this for real people and fictional characters. This blog entry will focus on Kone, one of Alistar’s friends in Blestemul, the new book I’m writing. Kone is an Ironsoul, which means that he has mechanical parts mixed in with organic ones. After a particularly nasty bit of business in the plot line, Kone had most of his living body destroyed, meaning now he is almost completely mechanical. His brain did not survive; rather they stuffed “Kone” into an extremely sophisticated CPU, where he is who he is, but now he can process like a computer. Traumatic to say the least, but not without its benefits. Kone now is a sophisticated war machine, meaning that he has all sorts of military-grade treasures and goodies (I won’t reveal why). Navigation systems, enhanced tracking and sensory awareness, strength, reflex, and agility augmentation, hacking, electronic disruption, and a whole laundry godman list of other terrific shit. Take a look at some (shitty) concept art that I drew for Kone 2.0:

KoneConceptArt2_TCoUBlestemul

The skin on him cannot even fit over the mechanical parts, making it look unnatural. The face plate is synthetic, and does nothing to add humanity. I can’t say why I did this to Kone. And not in a “reveal the ending” kind of way, I truly don’t know why I did this to him. Perhaps I deemed him uninteresting, and needing a new angle. Maybe I was getting lazy, and needed an ace in the hole for later chapters. Maybe I just felt…cruel that day. Or maybe it was a combination of something else entirely. I don’t know.

Shit happens. We are all aware of this, whether it is fictional or real, everything happens to everybody for a specific reason. These reasons are either identifiable immediately, or take some time to reveal themselves. Sometimes, I can feel the world plotting. And I don’t mean people, I can feel the noose of life tighten around my fragile, mortal neck and then loosen when I least expect it. I felt the world plotting against me all my life, but I didn’t really understand what it meant until recently. Yesterday, my car got smashed into by an old man with shitty eyes and a big car. I could feel the incident looming long before it occurred.

Sometimes, I feel as though it maybe is death keeping my ego in check. God, devil, demon, angel, who knows. I worry. I worry because I this time of year always means trouble for me. And as the demons travel in threes, I worry. I worry because maybe this isn’t the end. I worry because maybe there’s more darkness to come.

I will always be on the edge of the abyss, staring into the black. It’s where I belong. Partially (mostly) by choice. And maybe sometimes this bleeds into my writing. Maybe all this shit means something, and I am just a lil’ ol’ pawn in a Chess game so grand and convoluted that I’ll never be anything more than just a basic piece. Maybe I’m full of shit.

Feelings of doom, bad omen, signs. They are everywhere. They can be heeded, ignored, embraced, destroyed, hidden, a whole manner of things. The feelings I get, the thoughts I have, the dream I dream. They are all connected somehow in a massive web that connects me to life, and all the forces that drawn upon it.

Or maybe I’m just a Pawn aspiring to be a King.

Dire Times = Dire Changes

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul and tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

So…Blestmeul ran wild last night.

I was just putzin’ along, writin’ my shit, and low and behold, the story threw me a curve. Not me, the story itself. In this situation, one of the main characters, Kone? He makes a very big decision that ultimately effects how the story will run. It’s strange sometimes how that happens.

Well, I don’t want to tell you what he did of course. It’ll fuck up the book if you ever want to read it. But I changed him completely all the same. Due to an event that I won’t disclose, Kone went from being partially cybernetic to almost completely all robot. That’s not all, either. He got a shit ton of military grade robotics and upgrades to make him a more efficient man-machine (I’ll post concept art detailing this in the near future). I’m not sure why I did that, to be honest. The story just…took a left turn.

This isn’t the first time its happened in this story. Originally, Kone wasn’t even a character. He came in to help progress the plot early in the book. I built him on a whim, and then added dimension as needed. No, he was supposed to forge a greater relationship with Alistar as time passed. I wanted them to be in each other’s pockets, but that might not be the case right now.

Turns out, Spek, my Groar character? He took over. His life force and personality in the story completely overshadowed Kone, and I simply ran with it. Now now, I’m not ditching Kone. I just found his purpose, and his purpose is not what I expected. The only relationship that is headed in the original direction I intended was with Jala and Alistar. Blestemul isn’t even the same anymore.

See, that’s why I don’t like to plan too much. I don’t like to have the whole story piece by piece, bit by bit laid out for me. If I start sticking to a well crafted plan I’ve made for myself, the writing turns to shit. I mean it too. Unreadable, even by friends or family. My mind is too obsessive and frantic to follow a plan. Does that make me better? No. But it does…force me to think in a different way. Special? No. Unique? I like to think so.

Anyway, this whole entry was on sudden changes if you’re playing the shitty home game. Sometimes, a story just doesn’t go the way you want it to. But that doesn’t mean that you no longer have a story. You simply have a new one. Everyone is so afraid of change, I feel. Especially writers. That’s why I don’t identify with that crowd.

Sometimes, a sudden turn in what seems to be the wrong direction can be the best godamn thing you can do for whatever piece of art you’re working on. Fuck, it can be the best thing for just living your life! Don’t be afraid if your novel is going in a place you don’t like, or understand straight away. Let it run! And if it still turns out shitty?

Just write another one.

Writing and the Mind- Getting Back on Track

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul and tagged , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Finding the strength to write is like gripping sand.

Dragging myself out of the brine of complacency, I have lied to myself as to where I need to be, and what I need to do. The mind is a terrible thing. Not to waste, but a terrible thing. I have imagined and seen things in my mind’s eye that have irrevocably changed how I think. By a little bit. Every day. Completely changing, over and over again. That’s how all minds work. Not just mine. I’m not unique there.

I’ve been writing again. Who knows why the flow slows? Who knows why my stomach drops when I think about slamming down a few more words outta a keyboard? I don’t know. And I’ve spent too much time in my life trying to figure out a final reason, a final truth. It might as well be a holy grail for Christsake. Unattainable. Impossible. Unreachable. The mind is too complex for me, or for anyone else to fully understand.

I’ve discovered that forcing myself to write just a little bit begins the flow again. I haven’t been able to write for hours in a long time, but I can feel the inspiration coming. It happens like this every time I write a novel; I reach a point where I’m goin’ through the motions, and then I come back full force. I can feel it. It’s there. As for drawing and art, there isn’t much left now. Concept art for Blestemul I mean. In case you couldn’t tell, I’ve been clutching and clawing for exposure through posting pictures. Simply because the content of my blog has been shit lately.

Time to get back on track. I’ve written over 200 pages in this new book, and I’ll I’ve been doing is pissin’ and moanin’ about how hard writing is when I should be doing the thing I created this fuckin’ blog for. So here we go.

As of right now, I’ve been trying to develop character connections through difficult experiences and trust loops. Along with this, I’ve been changing my main character, twisting him into something the reader might not like. But I always have a plan when it comes to something like this. I won’t disappoint.

As for the beginning of the novel, it starts out simply enough. An alcoholic, washed-up “soldier” eeks out a living on some godforsaken shit hill town when an opportunity to redeem himself in the eyes of himself presents itself. Alistar, the main character, has given himself up to the demon, Blestemul, his symbiotic demon-pistol. Stuck inside his head, the demon goads, supports, and torments him as he strikes back at those who have held him down, and are continuing to destroy other peoples’ lives in plain view, under the guise of innocent righteousness.

I also tried to break stereotypes in this book. I created races that seem more bestial, but I developed them like any other “human” character. They have personalities, they wear clothes, cologne, they have opinions, jokes, likes, dislikes, loss and gain. It shows that a good person is a good person, and one can transcend any ignorance with a little effort.

Right now, one friend of Alistar’s, Kone, is missing. One recovered after a traumatic event that she (Jala) shared with AListar, and Spek is now looking for Kone inside of a primordial and very dangerous swamp. They are close to reaching the location of their main objective, and then the book should take off with aggression and grace.

That’s where I am. Now you know, and now I’ve said it. Wrote it. And I feel better. I’m giving you the writing you deserve to read. Am I god’s gift to the written word? NO. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to try. Thanks for reading and sticking with my fury. I won’t disappoint you. I promise.

Help Create a Character: Spek

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul and tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Hello all.

Okay, so I’m in a place in my book where my characters are really starting to take shape and develop personalities other than the ones I’ve given them, and usually as I write, I like to create how they would look in my head. Until now, I’ve only posted sketches and rough ideas for any characters that I’ve created, but I’d like to get some input from someone other than myself (because my ideas may suck for all I know) in order to help make this book a reality. I’m going to post some concept art of a character that I’ve introduced in the book- Spek. He’s a Groar male that is dedicated to the assimilation of Groar culture regardless of societal differences.  He is like a lot of Groars- quick to anger, quick to help, quick to forgive, violent. But he is refined, intelligent, generous, kind, and noble. If you look below, you’ll see some of the concepts that I’ve been throwing around for him. Once you’re done with that, I have another favor to ask.

Okay, so that’s what I have. Not so good. That favor that I was asking you for- tell me how you think he would look based on the feel you get from his role in the story. Here are some excerpts of his lines from TCoU: Blestemul.

1. “One screeched and ran forward. Spek clenched his jaw and stepped to the side, dodging the first swipe with the creature’s machete. A huge strike with Spek’s right claw nearly ripped the creature’s jaw off. It fell, and Spek slammed his foot into its stomach, make his foe fly backwards into the swamp. He heard the monster smash into a tree and fall silent.”

2. ““Looking at your surroundings, reading enemy minds, feeding you intel. You’ll have to do everything else though. Spek tightened his grip on the totem sledge. “That’s fine.” His eyes stopped glowing, the light falling into the dark pools of gleaming tar.”

3. “Me? I educate tribals. It’s a personal endeavor of mine, I want my people to be united or at least understanding of one another. City Groars are accepting of different senitents, but tribals are isolated, and scared. All tribals are good people, they’re just misinformed about the outside world.” Spek clapped a hand on the chief’s shoulder. The Chief held a smile back, his eyes giving way to blue. Other Groars followed suit.”

I know a lot of this is outta context, so if you have questions, lemmie know. If this thing goes well, I’ll do it for all my characters. I think it would be pretty godamn terrific if I I got some help developing characters, and I would love to hear your suggestions and ideas. Please, tell me what you think! Help me make a good character.