The Deep, Chapter 1

Chapter 1 


(Naera is camping out after a long day. She takes out her journal, sighs, and starts writing.) 

Day 3. 

Today, I walked. And walked. And walked. Much walking was done. I should write a song about it. Because it's all I do these days.

My posterity is going to really bored when they read this, I can already tell. I'm not too concerned, since I'm fairly convinced at this point that I won't have any posterity anyway. So I can write whatever I want here. Pushkin. Bob. Flatulence. Goombkinarglrgrlap. There. Now I can't have posterity, because they can't be allowed to read this. 

(Naera chuckles, and then becomes despondent.) 

I have no idea what I'm looking for. I can't even be sure that I'm going south. I don't know if "south" is even the right direction. Where did I even get that impression, anyway? When I left, it seemed like the right way to go. Now I'm wondering if I'm just being an idiot, following feelings like they'll lead me somewhere. 

Corrin always said that Pavah speaks to us through our bodies, not through words. It speaks through feelings. Small thoughts. Things like that. Not through dreams. Not through people. That's what uneducated poets say. 

But I still can't turn back. That is very clear. So there is something pushing me forward. It's not just me being an idiot. 

I'm just praying that whoever - whatever - is doing the pushing will send me a signal sometime soon. Otherwise, I'm as good as doomed. 

(Scene change. Naera is wandering the snowy wilderness, finding a trail. She goes down it, and sees a plume of smoke off in the distance. She camps for the night.) 

Day 4. 

I found a road today, with a plume of smoke off in the distance. That has to mean a town, or a house, or some place with other people in it. I'm sincerely hoping so, anyway, because I'm almost out of food. And I am not terribly excited at the idea of hunting or trying to find edible plants in this snow. 

It's strange that I haven't seen anyone else on this road. I know it's winter, but don't people still hunt or go to other towns around here? For all I know, though, these people go into hibernation this time of year and don't wake until spring. 

Either way, I'm not losing anything by going to the smoke. Right? 

I really wish that I knew what I was doing. It would make my life so much easier. And considerably less terrifying. 

(Next day. Naera goes down the road, headed towards where she saw the smoke. She comes upon an old farmhouse, and goes to look at it. It's abandoned, and there are signs of fire damage inside.) 

(Now very suspicious, Naera continues down the road, and finally comes upon the source of the smoke: a ruined, burned-down town.) 

(She halts, staring around at the destruction. It looks recent.) 

Naera: What....happened here? 

Gods....

(she wanders forward, walking slowly, looking around her. Plainly astonished.) 

(she sees a figure in the distance - a young woman, on her knees in the snow. Naera awkwardly approaches her.) 

Naera: Um.....

Hello? 

(the girl initially doesn't respond. Naera leans over, and sees that the girl's eyes are closed.)

Naera: Uh....hello? Can I - are you alright? 

(she steps forward, crunching in the snow, hesitantly reaching out to touch the girl's shoulder. The girl finally seems to wake up, notices Naera, and immediately attacks her.) 

(there's a scuffle. The girl pins Naera to the ground, and is about to stab her with a sharpened piece of wood.)

Naera: WaitWAIT! 

DON'T! PLEASE! 

(The girl halts.)

Naera: I'm not...I'm not going to hurt you! It's....I didn't.....please don't kill me. 

(the girl lowers the stake. She stares at Naera, who tries a smile. Finally, she gets up off of Naera, who staggers to her feet, hands up. They look at each other for a few awkward moments.)

Naera: Uh....I'm...Naera. 

(The girl doesn't respond.)

Naera: Naera. My name. It's Naera. (pointing to herself). Naera. 

Completely harmless. Not interested in setting things on fire. Promise. 

(the girl looks at her for a minute longer, and then walks away. Naera slumps with relief. She looks up, and sees the sun setting. She sighs, looks at the girl, who is once again kneeling in the snow. Gingerly, she sets her stuff down.)

Naera: Um. Is it all right if I camp here? 

(the girl glances at her, then goes back to staring off into space.) 

Naera: I'll....take that as a yes. 

(she sets up camp, making a fire. She brushes off her hands, and then looks towards the girl. Evening has fallen. The girl hasn't moved.)

(Slowly, Naera takes out her flute, standing up. She prepares to blow into it, and then looks back at the girl.)

Naera: Hey. Hello? 

(the girl glances at her.) 

Naera: I'm drawing up wards for the night. If you want, you can come into my camp before I do. You'd be under protection. 

Probably better than sitting in the snow all night. I'd say. 

(the girl doesn't respond. Naera sighs, and begins to play.) 

(she makes a slow circle around her camp, playing as she goes. The girl watches. As Naera is about to finish, the girl approaches. Naera pauses, seeing her, and smiles at her while still playing. The girl smiles back uncertainly, and points at the campfire. Naera nods, and the girl comes in. Naera finishes the ward, and lays down her flute. The girl stares at it.) 

Naera: Heh. No one should be able to see us. And if anyone walks through, they'll just sort of....teleport to the other side. No worries. 

(the girl cocks her head.) 

Naera: I'm...guessing that you can't understand me. 

(the girl furrows her brow.)

Naera: Right. 

Well, let's try this again. (points to self) Naera. 

(she points to the girl, with an expectant expression. The girl stares at her for a second, and then points at herself.)

Girl: Kolyrah. 

Naera: Kol....Kol..deerah? 

Girl: (shakes head) Naht, naht. Kohl. Leeeerrrr. Ah. Kolyrah. 

Naera: Ko...lyrah. 

(The girl nods.) 

Naera: Kolyrah. All right. 

It's...um....very nice to meet you. Kolyrah. 

Kolyrah: Kat duya sevbak.....Neerrah? 

Naera: (smiling) Naht. NAI-ruh.
Kolyrah: N...Naarrrah. 

Naera: (laughs) Close enough. 

(Zoom out. We go a distance away, following the trail of ruined towns to an encampment. Soldiers are eating and talking, generally having a good time. We pass them, coming up to a figure standing on a hill. A shadowy mustachioed figure. He is looking out over the horizon, towards a settlement. One of the soldiers approaches him.)

Soldier: Looks to be easy enough, sir. 

Man: Indeed. 

(there is a pause)

Soldier: Something wrong, sire? 

(Mustache doesn't respond for a moment. Then, he turns to the soldier.)

Mustache: Bring out the Borman. 

Soldier: (tenses) Yes, sir. 

(The soldier heads back to camp, approaching a tent set off from the others. Inside is a cage, with a guard.) 

Soldier: The General wants him. 

(The guard rises silently, unlocks the cage. Inside, we see the bulky outline of a man, bound and gagged, hunched up against the wall of the cage. The guard goes in, and takes him by the arm, dragging him out of the tent. The soldier and guard go back to Mustache on the hill. The guard throws the bound man at the General's feet.) 

General: Remove the gag. 

(The guard hesitates, and then does as he is bid. The man rubs the corners of his mouth, marked with raw sores.)

General: This is the last town we will have to break through before heading to the heart of Gulaya. It's been far too simple so far. 

Man: (laughs hoarsely, and then starts coughing) And what...do you expect me to do about it? 

General: What should we expect? 

Man: And why should I tell you? 

(the general turns to him, and kneels down, looking him in the face. He removes the man's blindfold, revealing bright golden eyes glowing in the darkness, face heavily bruised.) 

General: Do I need to repeat myself? 

(the man gives him a hard look, which the General returns: grey against gold. Finally, the man looks down, face shadowed. He touches the ground with a finger, and hums a deep, quiet note, breath rising in fog before his face. His eyes glimmer. He sees large shapes, silhouettes of hulking beasts.) 

Man: They have makurak. Well-armed. Well-trained. This town is the gateway into Gulaya proper. Strong protection. Nothing....like the last settlements.

(the General gets to his feet, turning to the other soldier.)

General: Makurak. 

Soldier: We haven't met any of those yet. 

General: It seems that it's finally time to employ our next plan. 

Lieutenant, make the preparations.

Lieutenant: Yes, sir. 

General: Private. 

Guard: Yes, sir.

General: Back into holding. 

Guard: Of course, sir. 

(the guard reaches down, and replaces the gag on the golden-eyed man. Right before the blindfold is tied back into the place, the man gives the General a hard, hateful look. He is taken away, back towards his cage. The General returns to looking out over the horizon. We get a good look at his face.) 

General: Hard days ahead. 

Comics and Why I Draw Them

When people ask me what I want to do with my Illustration degree after college, I hesitate to answer. Only recently have I even begun answering honestly. Initially, whenever I was asked, I would give the vague answer of, "Oh, you know, like....children's books. And stuff." Eventually, I got tired of this and just said, "I don't know." Both times, I sounded just like every other hapless art student out there, and it drove me crazy.

Funny thing is, I've known what I've wanted to do as a career since...well, before college. I didn't fully acknowledge it until recently, but it's been on my mind since high school.

So, in answer to your question, Person I Don't Know, this is what I want to do with my illustration degree: I want to do comics.

NO, stop. I know what you're thinking.


(property of DC comics)

"Seriously? This is what you, a 22-year-old Mormon girl, wants to do with her life? Draw heavily muscled men and big-boobed women in spandex? Seriously?"

Um. No. No, that's not what I want to do at all.

"So...you wanna do those weird Japanese comics, then?"


(property of Mabinogi and whoever the heck owns it)

.....

Nope.

Okay, let me just say: I'm not totally bashing the superhero comics nor the anime/manga industry. While some of it is incredibly silly and occasionally supremely outrageous -


(property of DC, much to their shame)

(Seriously, what even is this)

-there are many good things to be found there, and many gems to be found. For example: what originally got me into comics was watching Pokemon. It is a show with many faults, but still managed to be very popular and for good reason. And, if nothing else, it got me wanting to draw people throwing things at each other with intense expressions on their faces.

This would be the place where I would put one of my childhood Pokemon fan drawings. Unfortunately, they have all been burned and the ashes have been fed to our goats. 

That's where it all started, really. I discovered that shows like that could be found in comic form, known as "manga". I hooked onto the genre with a vengeance. To clarify: I love books of all kinds. Both with just words and with pictures. I am an avid reader of both. Comics just hit a cord with me. To me, it was another amazing way of telling stories.

 As I got older, I searched the library for comics to read, which were in depressingly short supply, being seen as the bane of proper literature and thus not conducive to a growing child's education. Or something like that. BUT there were still some manga books that were sneaked in there, and one in particular really grabbed me:



(property of Tokyopop and Natsuki Takaya. Wow, There are  lot of pictures I'm putting in this post.)

I know, Fruits Basket doesn't look like anything special. To the untrained eye, it looks like every other super-girly manga comic whatever book out there. And to be fair, there are times when it kind of is.

But for the most part, I found it to be really engaging and well-written. The story could get schmaltzy and downright stupid at times, but it was all in good fun, and primarily to lighten the mood of the difficult situations going on the background. Because behind the cutesy style, there's a deeper, considerably more somber story, one that I really found myself identifying with. Each character had depth - their own struggles and faults. Not even the supposed villain of the story was left out - behind Akito's dominating and manipulative personality, we discover a life filled with disappointments and pain, of trying to live up to people's expectations and being stretched beyond the breaking point. In reading these books, you would find yourself heartily disliking/hating a character, only to discover their story and the reasons for them being the way they are, and you couldn't help but feel for them. I mean, sure, they still weren't likeable, but the point was, you now knew why they weren't likeable. And that made them much more interesting, and you much more invested in seeing how they might change and become better. And no matter how schmaltzy or silly it got, you could see real-life struggles being represented, in the most gentle and non-judgmental manner. It never downplayed or made light of these struggles. Reading these books during a difficult time in my own life, the story had a profound impact on me. And thinking back on it, it still does. While the super-sweet and girly style sometimes rubs me the wrong way, I can't deny that the writing and characters made me feel like I was getting a hug after a good cry.

That's what makes a truly good book, comic or otherwise - that impact. Truly reaching someone with a story, making them feel something so strong that it follows them for the rest of their life. That's what Fruits Basket, the Myst games, Dune, Harry Potter and many other books, games and movies have done for me. And it was after reading Fruits Basket, in particular that I found myself longing to create comics of my own - ones that created that same feeling. I wanted to write books, too, but found myself unable to express what I was really wanting to say through words. I just didn't have the vocabulary to describe what could be summed up in one look. And while there are many other authors out there who are far more talented than I am and so are able to express such things very well in that way (all of my siblings, for example), I found that I was able to express my feelings and my perspective best through pictures.

This was done for a class, but it captured a feeling that I've always had difficulty expressing in words. I guess the best way to describe it....wandering? Having no destination? Simply walking forward? I don't know. That's what the pictures are for.

Anyways, it really was manga - and even superhero comics, to some degree - that first showed me the possibility of comics. Unfortunately, as I progressed and learned more about the industry involved, I found myself becoming disillusioned with the limitations presented. I had stories I wanted to write, but I know that with such a market, no one would want to read them. And while I'm not doing this for fame or fortune or anything (any artist who does is an idiot), I don't just write comics for me to read. So I put my ambitions on a shelf for a while, and sort of drifted around, trying to find a use for them.

It was around that time that I discovered webcomics. I'm not sure how or when I read my first webcomic, but I do recall thinking, "What, this is free? And it's online? And I can read all of it? For free?" (I was sincerely impressed by the "free" thing). Through that one webcomic, I was directed to several others, and from them to several more, and so my obsession began. At the same time, I also discovered some amazing printed comics - officially labeled "graphic novels" - that went outside the box that had been built around "traditional" comics and manga.

Examples: my absolute favorite of the printed comics (and still one of my absolute favorites to this day) was a big fantasy fairy-tale comic called Castle Waiting. 



Art is amazing. Story(ies) are amazing. Awesome sense of humor. Go read it.

In the webcomic department, I was blown away by the works of Der-Shing Helmer in The Meek (there is nudity in it. So, you know...be careful.), Tom Siddell's Gunnerkrigg Court, Michael Sexton's Everblue, Evan Dahm's Rice Boy.......it's a very, very long list.








So, so many comics. And all of them very unique.

See, this is what I want to do. I want to do comics. And I want to do my comics.

Am I going to be poor? Probably. Am I going to need a side-job? For a while, probably. And it just goes to show that I know this is the right path for me when I can honestly say that I can't imagine anything better for a living.

Thanks for reading.

The Deep, Prologue

So. I wrote the firstish part of my script for my webcomic. Which turned out being more like a long-form novel. But it reads easier that way in my mind, so we'll see how this goes. Anyway. 

This is the basic storyline for a webcomic project I am working on. Feedback is appreciated. Title is not final yet. Thank goodness. 

Prologue

Once upon a time, I was destined for great things. That's what the magi always told me, anyway. Growing up in a society like mine, that's high praise. I had the talent, the drive, and most importantly, the backing for it. 

And right now, I'm throwing it all away. 

I wake up before the call for morning devotions - long before anyone else is awake. I pick up my pack from where I stashed it - two days ago under my bed - get dressed, and place the note I've carefully written and addressed to my brother on my desk. I stop and look at it for a moment. I wrote and re-wrote and re-re-wrote that letter so many times, and I still feel like it isn't enough. Would it ever be enough, I wonder? He'd probably be angry no matter what I wrote anyway. Marxa isn't the forgiving type. Say what you will about his brilliance, but the man holds hefty grudges.

I  look away from the note finally, giving in. Someday, I tell myself. Someday, he'll understand. Maybe. I hope. 

I open the door, peering outside before sneaking quietly into the corridor. No one's out, just as I expected, but you can never be too careful with magi. 

A few hallways and a couple of sets of stairs later, I'm at the exit - the back door of the kitchens. The door is locked, of course, but it's a small problem. Drawing a deep breath, I purse my lips and blow into the keyhole - as high-pitched a whistle as I can safely perform. The lock clicks, and the door swings open soundlessly for me. 

Child's play. Good thing it isn't the magi's enchantments I'm dealing with here. I'd have a harder time keeping quiet then. 

I go out, closing the door behind me. The cold night air stings my face. It's been a while since I've been outside, and my body is regretting it. I  cough, my lungs barely able to choke down the icy air, and finally pull my scarf over my face. A little better. I go down the steps, taking great care not to slip on the ice. I look up at the colossal mountain range that looms over my home, and my stomach twists. This is a terrible idea, I tell myself. I don't need to go now, do I? I can wait until spring. I wouldn't freeze to death, at least. 

A quiet voice speaks in my mind right then. 

Are you coming? 

The memory freezes me in my tracks.

I can't wait. I know I can't wait. An involuntary groan makes its way past my lips. 

Yes. Wait for me. 

With one last look at the home I had known for the past twelve years, I start my slow, shambling way down the path, up towards the mountain. 

I know exactly where to go. I've walked these paths many times before, looking for a break from studying, occasionally running away from Magus Corrin, my tutor. Memories. 

I trek the familiar trail, carefully make my way through the undergrowth and rubble. Long ago, this was a well-tread trade road. Now, it barely passes for a deer trail. All the better. No one would think to come looking for me this way. 

Seriously, they wouldn't. No one, in the one thousand years my homeland has existed, could ever imagine that I could be going where I'm going right now. They'll look in all the wrong places. They'll never find me. They'll have no idea of where to look. It's perfect. And absolutely, completely terrifying. 

I come to a rock face, covered in old vines and moss and leaves and other various bits of tree dandruff. I look around, making sure I'm in the right place. Yes, I see the stack of rocks I made last time, right by that twiggy old tree. I run my hand along the stone, slowly walking forward. Suddenly, my fingers make contact with a sudden, unnatural groove. I brush off the relatively recent coating of old leaves, revealing a strange, spiral-shaped symbol carved into the rock. I place both hands on it, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. 

I have no idea if this will actually work. A part of me - a big part - is hoping that it won't. Then, I could go back to my room, go back to sleep, and then go back to work tomorrow. Pretend nothing had happened. I'd just had a sleepless night. Maybe Corrin would actually relent and give me a break. The candidate exams were finished, after all. 

Are you coming? 

I sigh, resting my forehead on the rough stone. 

Of course. 

Softly, my lips almost touching the carved symbol, I whisper, "Let me out." 

I feel the energy channeling up my legs and through my arms into the stone, filling my chest with a strong, exhilarating hum. The stone seems to wait under my fingers, considering.

Then, a crack appears in the middle of the spiral symbol. It goes along the spiral's line, and extends out. I step back. The stone seems to disappear along the crack, and soon a doorway appears, a crude circle suddenly cut out of the rock face. 

I stand there staring for a moment. I can't believe it actually worked.

There are no more excuses. There is nothing holding me back. And right now, I sincerely wish that there was.

I take a deep breath, and start walking forward. I go inside the mountain, the sudden deadening of the air a welcome reprieve from the sharp bite of winter outside. 

As I go in, the doorway silently closes, and I am left in darkness. 

No way left to go but forward. 

After a Long Absence

Journals, diaries and blogs. They have never been my "thing". I mean, as a missionary I was surprisingly diligent about my journal because, let's be honest, I had a lot of things I needed to write about for the sake of my sanity. Real Life, however, is completely different jar of pickles. 

I'm trying to be better, though. I think I've said that a million trillion times in as many blog/journal entries, but goshdarnit I mean it this time. Maybe. Hopefully. We'll see.

I am ridiculously diligent with my sketchbook. Mostly during Russian class. The amount of Russian cursive notes scribbled by my webcomic sketches is testament to that. 

You might be wondering why I'm rambling. The answer is, I'm not entirely sure. I guess this is all leading to me saying that I will, for sure, be trying to update this blog on at least a weekly basis. Or something like that. My plan: I need to get more attention to my artwork, and this blog needs more polishing in that regard. Also, I want to post my scripts/storyboards/concept art for my webcomic project, which has been lurking in the shadows for far too long. Since it's mostly my family and friends that read this, I feel safe doing that, but I need to branch out a bit. We'll see how this goes (i.e. if I actually remember any of this.)

Anyways. To end this rambling, here's a drawing I did. 

Yes, that is my face. Because I am just that sexy. 

Laura Eats Food

I am no chef, but I was ridiculously pleased with this smoothie. 

The House of the Scorpion: A Retrospective and Other Things (Part 2)

It is finished!

And.....it actually looks nothing like the horrific colors I was attempting to do at the end of the last post.

Which I am TOTALLY OKAY with.

For some reason, it looks way better on this screen than in Photoshop. 

I am quite pleased with the final result. Not ecstatic, being the nit-picky artist that I am. But still pleased. Maybe someday I'll go back and refine it a bit, but right now, I like it. 

The important thing, though, is that I learned a LOT from this project. And, oddly enough, also the Intro to Computer Art class I'm taking. In conjuction. At the same time. 

See, I've never been the best with digital art. So, when I started this project, I'm not quite sure why I thought it would be a great idea to do the whole thing digitally. I think, initially, the idea was that I would scan in the lineart, clean it up, get an idea for color, and then print it back out and use watercolors to finish it. Somehow, though, once it went up in Photoshop, it just stayed there. And it never occurred to me to take it anywhere else. 

And from it, I learned some lessons. Lessons that, as a 21-year-old art student, I really should have learned a long time ago, but hey, we all learn at our own pace. 

And the one I'm going to talk about in this post is an obvious one: NEVER GIVE IN. 

Well, I mean, do give in, when it's time. Sometimes, you're in a situation that's not worth even trying to salvage. But this was not one of them. Many, many, many times, I really wanted to just delete the stupid picture and just start over again. But the thing was, the reason I wanted to quit was stupid. I wanted to quit because, honestly, I'm not good at digital painting. It terrifies me to try it. I hate being bad at things, especially in an art class, where I'm usually seen as being "talented" (at least, when I was little kid. But those things stay with you.). The thing is - and this is the best-kept secret of non-prodigy artists everywhere - ART IS NOT A TALENT. Not exactly. Not the kind I'm talking about. Yes, there are prodigies. But they are rare. For the rest of us, how do you develop an understanding of perspective? Figure out proportions? Composition? Which colors go with which? What techniques create the best texture? Heck, how do you even come up with a cool idea for a picture? 

Let me tell you, in three words: 

PRACTICE, EXPERIMENTATION, CRITICISM 

There are more words that would also fit in (LETTING PEOPLE TELL YOU WHAT A CRAP ARTIST YOU ARE AND WORKING HARDER, etc.), but those are the three big basic ones that come to mind. 

Now, disclaimer time: when I say "talent", I am not talking about people who have a knack for figuring things like proportion. Those people do exist, and they aren't necessarily prodigies. What I am specifically referring to here is the idea that all artists have - or need - is talent. Like, when you show a picture that you have worked really hard on to someone - you have slaved over it for hours - and they say, "Wow, that looks awesome! You're so talented." While the compliment is appreciated, it kind of makes it sound like you didn't have to work very hard. Like, you just sat there with your beret perched atop your head, and this brilliant idea suddenly came to you, and you just put pencil to paper and ten magical minutes later, with little effort, you had this masterpiece. 

And again, I'm not dismissing the sincerity behind such a compliment. I'm just saying that, while I appreciate the compliment, I also want you to know that a LOT of work went into it. Not just several hours - years of work, refining and agonizing over technique and composition and style and......etc., etc., etc. 

In short....it takes a long time to get to that point. 

How does this tie in to this assignment? Well, just that I am remembering that it took me a long time even to get to the point where I was even comfortable enrolling in an art class. It took a long time to work up the courage to show my portfolio to people. It took a long time to develop my style to the point where I felt like it looked presentable. And I'm still learning. I have a LONG way to go, and so many other things to learn. Digital painting is just another technique to learn, along with everything that comes with it. 

Alongside my Illustration class, I've been taking an Intro to Computer Art class. When I signed up for it, I thought that I was going to be learning digital painting techniques. Instead, we're learning about all the different mechanics and tools of Photoshop and Illustrator, which is really tedious and boring and I really wish I could drop this class because of it. But the thing is, in a weird way, I'm also really glad that I signed up, because while it's boring, I am learning. Before, I only knew a few tools in Photoshop, and had no idea about how to download new brushes, how to use masks, how to crop properly, how to use grids....on and on. And don't even get me started on Illustrator. I barely even knew it existed. And now I use it all the time. 

So, what all this rambling comes down to is this: learning new things kind of sucks sometimes. We have to go through an awkward phase where we know what we want to do, but have no real idea of how to get there with the tools we have. We have to mess up and make mistakes in order to figure out what works and what doesn't. And while it's frustrating, it works. I know I have a long way to do go with digital media - heck, any media - but now that I've done this project, I feel like I'm a little closer to becoming the kind of artist I want to be. And that's what counts. 

The House of the Scorpion: A Retrospective and Other Things (Part 1)

Note: I have not uploaded all the images I wanted to for this post yet, but since I haven't posted ANYTHING for this blog since I created it, I was impatient. So, when I start talking about sketches....I promise, you'll actually see them someday. Maybe. 

`I am really, really bad a journals. I've been trying to remedy this lately, but it's a really steep uphill climb for me. By extension, blogs are also difficult. Which is why I have been so bad at updating this one.

BUT. This is important. And I really, really want to do it. So here we go. One post a week! Yes, that sounds doable.

Anyways, today I am going to talk about two things that I love: books, and book covers.

More specifically, this one:

                                         

Mmmmm. Good stuff.

Anyone who knows me well knows that The House of the Scorpion is my absolute favorite book. Which is to say, I've read it at least eight times and still love now at age 21 as much I did when I first read it at age 12.

I'm not even really sure why. I mean, it's a really good book, to be sure, but I've definitely read ones that are probably 'better', at least from a critical standpoint. But....it's still my favorite. For whatever reason.

Anyways, I bring this up because recently, I received an assignment for my Illustration class to do a book cover for a published book or magazine. And I, of course, had little difficulty choosing which one I wanted to do.

Book covers are awesome things. You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but we can't help but judge anyway. Admit it, when you are looking at books, you pick the ones with the interesting covers - the ones that stick out to you, that look intriguing, making you want to know what's inside. Plenty of excellent books have less-than-excellent covers, but we've probably never heard of them.

And the book I chose already has a pretty darn good one, if a bit generic. There's a lot of red. And red, as we all know, is the color to which all humans automatically connect, regardless of whether or not it's actually our favorite color. And scorpions are cool. Creepy, but that's the whole point. This book is geared towards tweens, who are craving heftier, darker fare than the bright and sunny children's book one normally grows up with. And House of the Scorpion, behind the cover, fit the bill perfectly.

For those not in the know, allow me to give a totally unnecessary summary of it here:

Taking place in the (presumably sort-of distant) future, in a country called Opium that lies between the United States and Mexico (now called Aztlan), Matt is a young boy who discovers that he is the clone of powerful drug lord and ruler of Opium, Matteo Alacran (referred to most often as "El Patron"). Nobody in this world is particularly fond of clones, viewing them as animals and abominations. Pretty much all clones aren't even allowed to have a real life, the law being that all clones must receive a shot at birth that stunts their intelligence. The story begins with Matt's creation, then jumps ahead to age 7 and then follows him through adolescence, as he tries to figure out who he is, or even what he is - is he even human, or is he a soulless animal? Is he going to become exactly like Matteo Alacran? Or can he become someone else? Who knows. You have to read it.

As an awkward, shy kid, this spoke to me for some bizarre reason. Maybe it was the theme of figuring out your identity, which is a pretty big part of pre-teen and teen life. Maybe it was the feeling ostracism and not being wanted, which I felt pretty profoundly at school and around strangers (even though it was mostly in my head). Maybe it was the feeling of not fitting in. Maybe it was all of these things. Regardless, it is an excellent book, and I highly recommend it to anyone, pre-teen or adult.

Which brings me to the cover.

I began with some rudimentary sketches, which I will upload someday (hopefully soon).

Contrast is a big thing for me. It's one of those concepts that I love to emulate and observe, not just in art but in life. Perhaps too much. Here, though, it seemed suitable: the contrast between El Patron and Matt, biologically and physically the same exact man, joined by their identical DNA. And yet, as the book goes one, we see that they are not inherently the same person.

(Don't ask me, just read the darn book)

So, the taller figure is El Patron - the original Matteo Alacran. He overshadows Matt, the smaller figure. Everything he does and has done dictates Matt's life. What he is going to do....well, we don't know. And we're not sure we want to find out.

While I do like this piece, I see some problems with it. It looks too simple. It catches the eye, but is a little too vague. It doesn't draw you in like it should. And besides, it doesn't have a scorpion in it. And that's just unacceptable.

I was unwilling to start all over again, though, so I kept the same image, but with a small tweak.


BAM. Scorpion. Now all the requirements are meant. I can just go on to line work and value study.

Wait, what's that? Stupid? Psh. Away with you. I am an ART MAJOR. CLEARLY I know more than you do about this sort of thing. Who are you, anyway? The audience?

......

OKAY. FINE. It's stupid. Here, let me just go all the way back to the drawing board and start ALL over again and....

Oh. Okay.That worked out.

Here, the symbolism a bit clearer. I took out the plain black-and-white contrast and overly simplistic image and replaced it with one that was a bit more personal. Two hands clasped together are often used to symbolize union, love, and connection. What El Patron and Matt have isn't exactly "love", which is where the scorpion comes in. The hands create the head of the scorpion, the stinger prominently featured in the foreground, referring to El Patron/Matteo's chosen surname, Alacran.

(It's Spanish. For scorpion. In case you missed that. Because that's easy to miss. If you don't know Spanish. Like me. I don't know Spanish. I only what 'alacran' means because I read the book.)

(Anyways......)

What the scorpion symbolizes and why it's so darn important....well, you'll just have to read the book, won't you?

(SLAP)

Okay, okay, okay, I'll stop doing that. Happy? Good. Let's move on.

(owwwww....)

I also added a little circular, stone window at the top, which....well, at risk of being cyber-slapped again, let's just say makes more sense after the story is read. As it is, it adds another source of light, which adds some of that lovely contrast which I love so much. It also makes the cover more interesting, just in general, with another shape. It...completes the aesthetic? I guess? Yes. Yes, it does.

From there, I practiced with some value:

Okay, I actually did this before the line-work one above, which is why the scorpion looks less....scorpion-y. But hey, values. I am very, very satisfied with them here. The composition needs work, of course, but it's still in the development stages here, so there's hope.

(Tip: references are AWESOME.)

(especially with scorpions)

Now....well, now I am currently working on the color comps. Here's what I have so far:

Yeeeeeah, still working on it. Please join me next week, in Part 2.