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Q – Q-chan (Petshop of Horrors)

  • Posted on April 20, 2017 at 1:50 pm

Since I’ve only seen one anime that starts with Q (Qwasar of the Stigmata), and it was awful, I decided to bend the rules a little bit. Q-chan is a character from a wonderful anime/manga series called Petshop of Horrors. The stories are all centered around Count D and his petshop. The series follows him and the pets he sells to his customers.

Why I recommend it to writers: Because it’s a very good representation of how to have a villain as the main character and still make them very sympathetic. One might want to read the manga a little to understand the series better, depending on your preference.

Warnings: Death. Murder. Gore.

For the rest of the articles in this series, please visit this page.

Have you seen this anime? What about it made you want to be a better writer? Do you intend to go shotgun this anime now that I’ve shown it to you? Comment below and tell me what you think!

Q-chan in all his glory

Distractions – IWSG 05/04/16

  • Posted on May 4, 2016 at 5:14 pm

We're here for you. Things that Distract one’s Focus

  • The sudden and unexplainable urge to read something one has never read before.
  • A broken nail that begs to be filed.
  • Hair that must be plucked, brushed, tweezed, or otherwise groomed.
  • The click of a pen in another room.
  • The need to feed pets, children or a partner.
  • The need to bathe said pets, children or partners.
  • A sudden and inexplicable yearning to clean every inch of one’s house.
  • The pile of laundry calling, begging to be folded.
  • An old notebook found in the deep recesses of a closet.
  • The sudden and startlingly shrill scream of a child.
  • Especially so if that child is not injured in the least, but rather enjoying the startlement they have caused.
  • The ring on one’s finger.
  • The thought that one ought to be writing, but instead is doing something else.
  • The thought that one ought to be doing something else, and so therefore, should not be writing.
  • The glowing numbers on a clock.
  • The ticking of a clock.
  • The hush of rain outside.
  • The hush of wind through trees outside.
  • The sunshine streaming through the window.
  • The blackness of the night outside one’s curtains.
  • A reminder that one’s favorite program has come on.
  • A reminder that one’s bills need paid.
  • A sudden urge to check the mail.
  • The sound of a hamster running on it’s wheel.
  • The thought that you might have books to return to the library.
  • A rambling search for said books.
  • The library.
  • The siren call of someone messaging you.
  • A tangle of cords peeking out of a box.
  • A new idea where one was not before.
  • A new plotline for a part of the story one has not reached quite yet.
  • The thought that perhaps this story isn’t worth telling after all.
  • The gross misconception that one can handle writing three or more books at once.
  • A sudden, undeserved pity party.
  • A sudden, well-deserved pity party.
  • A sudden, and entirely deserved party.
  • Any sort of party, really.
  • Cake.
  • The Dog Park.
  • One’s own thoughts.
  • A game that one wants to play.
  • A chore one must do.
  • The irksome feeling of an unmade bed.
  • The act of making a bed.
  • The comfort that comes from sitting on a made bed.
  • Pictures.
  • Dreams.
  • The look on one’s face in the mirror.
  • Anything broken.
  • Lights flickering.
  • The ding of an appliance.
  • The hum of a refrigerator.
  • Eye contact.
  • The reward one has set oneself for completing the act in the end.
  • The idea that one must complete the act at all.
  • The uncomfortable tingle of a bladder over full.
  • The rush of a breeze over one’s arm.
  • Anything at all can be a distraction.
  • When you think about it, in the end, even what you’re writing is a distraction.
  • A distraction from all of these distractions.
  • The best sort of distraction is an entertaining one.
  • So make your distractions entertaining.
  • And then write them down.
  • And share with the class.
  • Who knows.
  • Your distractions.
  • Might become someone else’s.
  • And then.
  • The world will be a better place.
  • Or so this one thinks, anyway.

Pet Peeves

  • Posted on July 16, 2015 at 1:47 pm

“Stop, stop stop. You’re doing it wrong.” The spoon was snatched out of his hand, and Dirk blinked, frowning up at the interloper. The silver spoon balanced from Yumil’s fingers like a cigarette from a 1950s audrey hepburn. “you stir without clanking. Otherwise it’s annoying.”

“Does it really matter?” Dirk asked, “It’s stirring. With a spoon. In coffee.” He made sure to raise an eyebrow to emphasize just how stupid Yumil was acting.

“Just… Do it right, alright. You gently scrape the bottom.” Yumil’s brows furrowed, and he gave the spoon back. “It’s one of my pet peeves.”

“A pet peeve?” Dirk demanded.

“Yeah. A pet peeve. Like when I pick at those lumpy little bits on the socks you knit.” The derision in his tone was matched by the sarcastic tilt of his body as he plopped into the other, matching, floral-print armchair they’d bought at some or other garage sale.

“That’s completely natural. It’s not nice to pick at things made for you. I work hard on those damned socks.” Dirk’s eyes strayed to the lumpy, soft yarn sitting in the bin he used to hold it while he was knitting.

“Just accept it.” Yumil sighed. “Everyone’s got their pet peeves.” He started poking off fingers as he counted their friends. “Eamon’s hair getting in her eyes. Anelace being cut off in traffic. Lette hates being interupted in conversation. Espin can’t stand the sound of a dripping faucet, and Jorgan’s always getting annoyed when he finds hair in his food.”

“That’s natural too. Your hair gets everywhere.” Dirk’s nose crinkled in annoyance. It was true. His partner’s long hair shed like a husky, and it always ended up in some form or another in the food they ate. “You really should tie it up before you cook.”

“Oh shut up.” Yumil answered, good-naturedly. He changed the channel on the tv to the home and gardening network.

“I was watching that.”

“Sure you were. Just like you were stirring your coffee properly.”

Imagine Your OC – Practice Drabbles 1

  • Posted on October 19, 2014 at 10:15 pm

In the spirit of NaNoPrep, I’m taking some time to build my characters! And in doing so, apparently, I am avoiding all responsibility by surfing tumblr. Anyway, I found this post here, entitled ‘Things to consider when making your OCs” and I realized, honestly, they’re some pretty amazing prompts! So here we go! I’ve picked random characters for each prompt, and will flesh them out some! This should be an adventure, yes it should.

~*~*~*~*~

How would they react upon accidentally walking into a glass door?

The pain was nothing to the embarrassment. Knocking into the sliding glass door only caused a slight ache in the bridge of his nose, but Dirk’s pride? Now, that was bruised beyond repair. With Yumil laughing in the background, he groaned, rubbing the sore area. Stay calm, Strausson, stay cool. No need to let the normally-unflappable idiot you hang around with take the wind out of your sails.

“I meant to do that.” Dirk stumbled, saying the first thing he could think of. This, of course, only increased the howling of laughter from Yumil.

Jorgan, sweet, innocent Jorgan, took the handle of the door, and opened it. “There you go!” Dirk knew letting Jorgan hang around his older brother was a bad idea. Look at that tiny smirk. Yumil was a bad influence. Giving up, the mahogany skinned man slid past Jorgan and out into the yard, ignoring the burning of embarrassment in his ears.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

How do they react to having their name spelled wrong on a Starbucks cup?

“…Excuse me. This…” Dirk was holding a cup, on which his name had been… well… The letters in scrawled sharpie clearly emblazoned the word “DICK” instead of Dirk. He stood at the counter, as the person behind the counter stared placidly back. Before he even finished, he realized he’d already lost this battle. However, Dirk was never one to give up.

“This is unacceptable. This kind of profanity is unprofessional.” He managed, fighting through annoyance and embarrassment. Everyone was looking at him at this point, but Dirk had to make a point here. What if this had been for some impressionable preteen? What then? “I’d like to speak to your manager.”

“Sir, I am the manager.” The employee intoned, soulless eyes staring sightlessly. “If you’d like to register a complaint, you can go online-” This was where Dirk sighed, giving up entirely. Maybe if Yumil had been here, he’d have gotten somewhere. His partner never turned down a challenge. Although that might end in the Starbucks being burnt to the ground… Best he wasn’t here at all then.

“Excuse me, sir? My name is Dick Dickerson, and I believe that’s mine.”

*~*~*~*~*~

What kind of vines do they make?

“Wait, why am I holding a pot again?” Dirk asked, possibly for the third time. He couldn’t quite remember. He honestly was trying to convince himself that what he kept hearing WASN’T incredibly stupid. But of course, this was Yumil, with his sidekick Lette he was talking about, who tended to bring out the worst in each other. He looked at the odd old-fashioned crock-pot he was holding, and wondered, again, why it was filled with fish.

“Just don’t move, alright, and keep still.” Yumil hissed, holding the phone. “Alright, go ahead Lette!”

Lette grinned into the camera, making a peace sign with her teal-painted nails. “Hi, I’m Lette, and this is jackass!” Then, she turned around, and Dirk got to see what she was holding. A bat. Oh god. He flinched back immediately, and the crock-pot went flying. Water and fish flew everywhere, and he stared at Yumil’s  laughing grimace, realizing that he, perhaps, did not have the best of friends.

*~*~*~*~*~

What would their reaction to your favorite character be?

He really didn’t understand this show. He supposed he could understand the characters. Leon, he was an officer of the law, and someone Dirk respected. Well, despite the fact that he acted like an eighties thug. But he really did want to stop people being hurt. He didn’t really understand the other character though. D, this so called-count. He was reminded of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“God, could Leon be any more stupid? of COURSE it’s a mermaid!” Yumil shouted from an armchair, painting toenails pink again. Long black hair was piled high up on the back of a pretty head. While D was incomprehensible, it was Leon he understood perfectly.

After all, his own incomprehensible idiot sat right across the way from him, didn’t he?

*~*~*~*~*~

How would they play the Sims?

Dirk checked the meter once again, and then smiled. Good. Every single one of their meters was alright. Although, little Eamon looked like she was going to end up peeing herself if he didn’t get her away from that computer. He clicked on the toilet and got her to head that way. He intercepted little Yumil from trying to set a plant on fire, again, and sent him to the library to study next to little Dirk.

He liked it best when everything ran well. Little Yumil is a scientist, and little Dirk is an author. little Jorgan is still in school. He ended up having to make him little Yumil and little Dirk’s kid, but it was worth it. Little Eamon was a cop and Little Anelace her partner. Little Lette was a movie star, and little Espin was the chore-boy. But he seemed happy enough that way.

Dirk saved, just to be safe, and started adding on the new wing of the house. After all, pretty soon little Dirk and little Yumil would be adopting some kids. That’d certainly keep them busy, wouldn’t it?

*~*~*~*~*~*~

What would their finishing move be?

“YUMIL!” He roared, cutting through another enemy to get to the summoner. He could see the summoner trying to call down Ifrit, his favorite summon, but he knew it would be too late.  The behemoths were quick, despite their large lumbering forms.

Things seemed to slow. His feet pounded the floor. His breath slowed. He felt it, then. Something powerful. He roared, leaping. Into the air he went, his sword raised high. Down, it came.

“EXCALIBUR ARCH!” A blaze of blue light, and the behemoth threatening their summoner dashed into a thousand shimmering pieces. Once it was done, he whirled, and Yumil’s back touched his, a renewed sense of purpose washing over him. “Everyone, REGROUP!”

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