Marshmallow, Caramel, Cinnamon, Chocolate, Espresso (and Other Shades of Lovely)

The more I looked at the picture of Betty I put up the other day, the more it bugged me.  Her skin tone just didn't look... right to me.  It seemed too grayish, or maybe too greenish.  I'm not sure- maybe it's just because of the other colors I used in the image, but it got me to thinking that I really needed to make my own personal skin tone chart, just for quick reference.

See, skin tone has been on my brain quite a bit, lately, primarily because I came to the conclusion that I didn't want to make Pippa white.  Or, at least, not the glow-in-the-dark-Celtic-white my characters tend to be (see faces #2 and 3) (#1 is an albino).  Now, it is perfectly understandable that my characters are generally that pale- I'm that pale, especially after a PNW winter, so it's natural that my brain thinks of  "my" skin color as "default".  But... it's not default: I'm pretty solidly in the minority of skin tones.  There are approximately one bajillion other shades of pink and brown out there, and I'd like to write characters that take advantage of that, just as I write characters that have hair color other than blonde (the natural shade beneath all this dye).  This, of course, is a Dangerous Thing... it's a sad but true fact that authors can Get Into Trouble by writing outside their race, which I think is a damn shame, but then I'm a white girl so I might not get to have an opinion on that.  Anyway, in regards to Pippa I decided to take a baby step and make her father an African American (her mother being, for all intents and purposes, Celtic-style fae), which makes her a lovely cafe au lait baby, but more importantly carries with it the "mix-blood-who-truly-belongs-to-no-culture" theme which was already in the story- and so you see it wasn't entirely an arbitrary "I need to add some color up in here!" decision.  The next step is figuring out her hair, and as such  I've been spending a lot of time browsing through Women-of-Color Hair Blogs (and it's fascinating).  I'll let you know what I eventually decide... (it will keep the ginger-cast, tho': that's proof of fae heritage, in her world).

Wait, Pencils?

Yeah, I know, I know- you weren't totally sure I even knew how to use pencils.  But I do.  And here's proof, in the form of a concept sketch of Pippa and two other Major Characters.

Generally speaking, I don't like working with pencils because I don't like how messy they are: hence I do 98% of my sketching in ballpoint pen (and 1.99% in brush pen).  But I thought I was going to turn this into a Real Piece, so I started in pencil so I could mess with composition and proportions and the like.  I don't think it will go past this point, but I do like the sketch well enough, and so all's not lost.

Blood Will Tell

I'm getting that urge again- that Writing Urge.  Never mind the fact that I still haven't edited/rewritten the Sleeping Beauty story: the time has come to start work on the Next One.  My brain is churning with the stuff, and as such you get a doodle of the main character.  She's had a rough time of it- and it's going to get worse.

And this is after some time to heal.

Poor Pippa.  To tell you the truth, I don't know that she's going to get a classically happy ending.  At least, I haven't been able to think one up for her, yet.  But time (and multiple drafts) will tell.

By Blood

This entry shows you the evolution of the story-seed that was planted by my dream. I've begun to really flesh it out, but rather than plop down the (still evolving) synopsis, I thought I'd just go with the Adapted Opening Scene... (of course, if you've read the previous entry, you'll have an idea of what's going on- but keep in mind that any theoretical readers of my theoretical books would not be privy to my internal, night-time adventures.)



***

When I woke, it was in a Strange Place. But I could smell my mother, so I closed my eyes and drifted off again into the nothingness.

The second time I woke, I could remember my dreams- my nightmares. Lights that screamed, shrieked, tore me apart- and darkness wet as blood. Someone was crying, crying… everything hurt. My mother stroked my forehead, singly softly, and I was under once more.

Finally I opened my eyes and kept them open. My first thoughts were concerned with the pain I was feeling- but it was… detached pain. I felt not quite connected to my own body, as though my spirit had moved ever-so-slightly out of alignment: overlapping for the most part, but not perfectly. I tried to sit up to get a better view of my surroundings, found I could not, and instead focused on what I could see within the limits of my current view.

White ceiling, mostly- but I noticed that the room, wherever it was, was suffused with natural light. There must be some pretty big windows in here- perhaps even a wall of windows, off to my left. I could smell- the sea? But not the sea as I knew it, cold and forbidding off the coast of Maine. These waters smelled warm, inviting: like sunlight in another form. My skin informed me there was a slight breeze, and if I focused I could hear the piercing cry of far-off gulls. The giant windows were open, then.

A movement to my right had me flicking my eyes over to that side- Mother. I opened my mouth to ask her what was going on, where we were- but all that came out was a croak that hurt my throat. I swallowed, and realized it felt suspiciously as though there had been a tube in it. I tried not to think about what that might mean.

She smiled at me, but the smile did not reach her eyes, which looked as though they’d rather be crying. I wanted to tell her she didn’t need to pretend to be cheerful for my sake- I knew her too well to be fooled. But I couldn’t, so I twitched my fingers at her, instead.

“You’re awake,” she commented. “And aware this time, I think.” I felt the corner of my lips twitch, and gave her a languid blink.

“No talking yet, I see,” she said as she sat. “That’s alright. You need to listen, for a while.” I would listen, but I wasn’t certain how much I would retain- whatever drugs it was that were keeping the pain at bay were also making my mind… slippery.

“You’ve been in an accident,” she reached out and squeezed my hand with an intensity that belied her brisk voice. It was her pragmatic, ‘sealing-off-the-pain’ voice. That particular voice meant things were Very Bad, indeed. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided that it’s better for you to know right away that… your father and your brothers… they were with you. And they didn’t make it.”

I closed my eyes. I wanted to go back to the nothingness. I wanted to die. Anything other than this tearing feeling in my chest, in my unfocused soul. Better yet, I wanted to wake up one more time, wanted this to be just another part of the nightmares…

“And Pippa- I had to… I had to take some drastic measures, to save your life. We’ll talk about it more when you’re stronger. But you need to know- you’re probably going to be very weak for a long time, darling.” I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t care about whatever else she had to say; I was remembering that I’d read about people turning their face to the wall and dying of a broken heart. I wondered when I’d be strong enough to move my head.