More Changes were Made + Working on New Chapters

Hello, everyone!

I been busy working on the drawing that I mentioned in my last post. I’m also working on the new chapters of my novels. I finished making changes to the page, “Dusk + Dawn (Animated Series)”. To see the changes, check out the page.

Right now, I’m working on a list of characters. I’m researching Japanese myths and legends to use in “Dusk + Dawn”. Once I’m done with it, I’ll show it to you all; I’ll even add it to the page.

Anyways, that all I wanted to share with you. Have a nice day!

Starting a New Drawing

I’m starting a new drawing. The problem is, I have a lot of ideas on what to draw that I can’t decide what to draw. I’m thinking of drawing a character from “Heartless”, but I’m also thinking of drawing Fiona from “The Infinite Guide”. I want to draw Zane and Zilla from “Zane Fey”, but I also want to draw a character from “Dusk + Dawn” . I guess I could draw Cordelia from “Clockwork Girl”, or another character from there.

I guess I could draw them all, but the question is: what to draw first? I guess I just have to surprise myself.

Anyways, I just wanted to post something. It been two days since my last post and I didn’t want to end up not posting anything for days.

That’s all for now. Have a nice day and talk to you later.

Happy Father’s Day

Happy Father’s Day

First and foremost, I want to thank Dr. Joseph Suglia for following the site. I appreciative it.

Now, I want to wish all fathers a Happy Father’s Day.

This morning, we, my mother, my step-father, and I, went out to eat breakfast. We ate at Max Brenner Chocolate Bar & Restaurant. It’s a chocolate bar that sells candies and chocolates, but it also serves actual food. I had the Chicken Alfredo Penne. After we ate, we had the fondue with both milk and white chocolate. They gave us a little container of fire to roast the marshmallows. I made s’mores with the milk chocolate and graham crackers that were given to us by our waiter.

After we got home, I called my birth father, who lives with his new wife in New Jersey. He’s doing well; when I called he was at a restaurant with my step-mother and step-daughter. I got him a card while I was out; he’ll got it in a few days.

Anyways, that what happened today. Have a nice night and I hope that all fathers had a lovely day.

New follower + The start of a new chapter

Firstly, I discovered that the site has a new follower. Allow me to thank Jack Bennett for following the blog. I hope you enjoy yourself and I hope you check out the pages. Speaking of which, I just added the new chapter of “Realm of Madness”. If you want to read it, click here to visit the page.

Also, I’m starting a new chapter of my other story, “Maybelline the Magnificent”. I only have the beginning of the chapter, but I still want to show it to you. I’ll let you know when I’m done with the chapter.

Here it is:

Chapter Four: Maybelline’s Hideout

Maybelline glanced at the wall clock above the nightstand, then at Joey’s bed. The small lump underneath the white blanket was still, saved for the steady rise and fall of what appeared to be Joey’s chest. It was a little bit before midnight and Joey was fast asleep in his bed. He had fallen asleep halfway through Maybelline’s story and she had tucked him in with the blanket. Not bothering to change into her nightclothes, Maybelline had climbed into her own bed and tried to sleep herself. It was nine o’ clock when she laid down to sleep, and it was four in the morning when she awoken.

Slowly, she climbed out of bed, put her the boots back on her feet and grabbed her hat and coat from the bedpost. On her way to the door, she grabbed her toolbelt from the bedpost. She opened the door, wincing at the creaking it made. She glanced back at Joey, who was, fortunately for her, still asleep. She breathed a breath of relief, before heading out the door and closing it behind her.

                                                         

On the borders of Cobalt County, she stood near the lone, rusted post that was Cobalt County’s only bus stop. She was waiting for the midnight bus that would take her to Neon City. After thirty minutes or so of waiting, the blue and yellow bus was seemed coming up the hill. It stopped in front of the post. With a metallic clink, the door swung open. The driver, a middle-aged man with a grey beard, tripped him hat to Maybelline as she stepped into the bus. He asked her where she was going at this early hour. She told him that she was just making a trip into the city to buy some breakfast.

She paid the fare and took a seat behind the driver. The bus started and they rode down the winding road. The ride was quiet, saved for Maybelline answering the bus driver’s many questions. He asked why she was buying breakfast so early. She took him that the stores always had the best stuff early in the morning, which seemed to satisfy him. He then asked about her parents and about her friends. She didn’t how to answer those questions, she didn’t have any parents or friends, so she took him whatever seemed to satisfy him.

As the bus rode down the road, Maybelline watched the small, one-story houses pass by in her window. Cobalt County was a rural area. It was empty, saved for a handful of houses that were at least a mile apart from each other. Whenever Maybelline rode the bus into the city, she couldn’t help but feel sorrow. Everything about Cobalt County was depressing. The houses were small, cramp, and unstable, saved for the orphanage, which was the largest and oldest building in the county. The land was hard and, for most of the year, not suitable for farming. The people were hard-hearted and lack compassion.

That is it for now. Have a nice evening!

New Chapter is finally done!

Chapter three of “Realm of Madness” is finally done! Sorry for not posting anything for the last few days. The chapter became longer than I thought it would be, but I still think it’s a good chapter. I added a lot of characteristic and backstory. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 3: My Diagnosis

Beyond the sliding glass door was our backyard. Large and colorful flowers decorated the ground. The grass was always neatly cut. An old willow tree that grew in the middle of the backyard shaded a polished white table with white fancy yard chairs sitting around it. On the table was a white vase with yellow orchids in it. A white picket fence separated our yard from the neighbor’s yard.

I found my great uncle sitting on the wooden bench on the back porch. “Great Uncle Arthur!” I shouted in glee. I ran up to him and wrapped my tiny arms around his waist. He chuckled in his gruffly and patted me on the head.

“I’m glad to see you too.” He said.

Arthur was the uncle of my father. He was about as tall my father, though, due to his bad back, he was hunched forward and looked shorter. He was over sixty and needed carry a wooden cane to help support him, but other than that he was perfectly healthy. His short, white hair was always combed back and tied into a ponytail. His bright blue eyes were always full of life and energy. He wore his usual black jacket over his usual white shirt, black pants, and black tie. My great uncle was the quintessential old man: wise, traditional, and a little grumpy at times. I loved him for it. For the longest time, he was my best friend and, through I could never say it aloud, I always felt better when he was with me.

I went to sit next to him on the bench. He looked me squarely in the eye and asked: “How are you feeling, Mary?” I could only shrug.

If you haven’t already figured out what was wrong with me, then I’ll just come out and say it: I was suffering from depression. It was because of my depression I was crying in the playground. I was always sad. Despair was constantly with me like a shadow. Somedays, it felt as if I was drowning in a sea of my own tears. It soon became harder and harder for me to get out of bed in the morning. Most days, I would refuse to eat anything. I isolated myself from my peers because I didn’t find the games that they would play enjoyable. I become so tired during the day that I sometimes sleep during my classes. The activities that the teachers would have us do didn’t bring me pleasure or joy. Almost nothing could make me happy.

It might seem odd considering how young I was. You usually don’t think about severe depression when you think about children. Children were, after all, symbols of innocence and joy. Children were supposed to bring happiness wherever they went; they didn’t get depression, only grow-ups did. Truth is, I was very different from other children. Though, I didn’t realize just how different I was until the day I spoke to Arthur.

It was June of last year; I was eleven-years-old. We were having a small get-together in the backyard as we did on most weekends. My mother, the hostess, as always, had invited most of the block. My father and Flint were in the den playing some kind of card game with my father’s friends from the army. I could hear their boisterous laughter, even from my spot on the back porch. Meanwhile, my mother and Marine were at the table, chatting with the other mothers while enjoying some meatloaf that my mother made. “Marine is the co-head cheerleader at her school, and Flint is the star player of his basketball team!” I heard my mother boast. From my seat, I watched the children of the other families played with our yard toys. I was the only child who wasn’t playing.

Then, Arthur came up to me. He sat next to me on the bench and we started talking. He asked me why I wasn’t playing with the other children. I just broke down. I told him everything, how angry and sad I was, how tired I was during the day, how I hadn’t been eating, how I was having trouble concentrating in school, and how I been having headaches or stomachaches; I even cried into my hands.

Arthur was a professor at a university in Jersey City, in the psychology department. Before that, he was a social worker at a middle school. Even at a young age, I knew he was well-versed in child psychology, so I immediately believed him when he told me: “I believe you are suffering from early-onset depression.”

“What’s that?” I asked in between sobs.

“It’s when a young child like you feels sadder than usual.”

“Just make it stop.” I murmured under my shaking breath.

Arthur began to rub my back in a comforting gesture. It was more than enough to quiet my sobs. I removed my face from my hands and looked up at him. “Don’t fret, Mary.” He told me. “We’ll make it stop. We’ll just need the proper treatment.” As he rubbed my back, I felt a contentment that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt as though I was being looked at for the first time. I don’t mean the regular way that someone looks at someone else, I mean the special way that someone looks at someone else. How do I describe it? Usual where someone just looks at you, they’re only looking at the superficial things like clothes or hair, but when someone really looked at you, they see more than hair or clothing. They see the aura that surrounds you, and they see inside your heart. That was what Arthur did. Somehow, saw my sadness, and then took the time to listen to my problems. There was probably over a dozen people at our house, but only he saw. I liked being looked at.

“I’ll talk to your parents about finding the right psychotherapist.” Said my great uncle. At the time, I didn’t know what a psychotherapist was, but I smiled nevertheless. Someone must had saw me cry and told my mother, because it wasn’t long before I noticed my mother making her toward us. I’ve seen mother worry about their children before, but there wasn’t a hint of worry on my mother’s face. Instead, there was only annoyance.

“What did you do?!” She said in voice loud enough to sound threatening, but silent enough so the other mothers or children couldn’t hear. It already angered me, the way she blamed Arthur. Any other person would had been offended, but Arthur didn’t let it get to him. As always, my great uncle was honest and told her that there was something seriously wrong with me. “Yeah, it’s you!” She snapped at him. She grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me inside the house. Great Uncle Arthur followed closely behind us. Once inside my mother yelled for my father. “Your good-for-nothing uncle is making our daughter cry!” She told him, eventhough it wasn’t true. Upon hearing this, my father turned to his uncle and started yelling profanities at him. Whenever I tried to use my voice, my father would yell at me to stay out of it.

Arthur never raised his voice, never swore, never fought back. He took my father’s anger like a champion. When it seemed that my father’s tirade was over, my great uncle spoke. He told them exactly what I told him, word for word. “I think Mary has depression. We must get a professional opinion to be sure.” But mother and father didn’t need a professional opinion. I could tell from the shock expressions on their faces that they believed him. For my father, shock quickly turned into anger. For my mother, shock turned into disgust. Arthur started to list the different treatments and medications we could try, but was he quickly interrupted by my father, who said that he wasn’t going to waste his money on drugs.

“We need to take every opportunity to help Mary!” My great uncle protested.

“No!” Shouted my father. “WE don’t have to do anything!” He said while gesturing in between him and my mother. He then pointed at Arthur. “YOU need to stay away from my daughter!”

“Keep your voice down!” My mother ordered. “Our guests will hear us.”

“So, you won’t take her to see a counselor?” Arthur asked.

“Absolutely not!” Exclaimed my mother. She continued, this time in a much lower voice. “What if one of my friends sees me taking her to a therapist. What if they find out that one of my children has a mental disease? What if they spread rumors about us? Do you know how long it took me create an image for us?!” As she finished saying this, she glanced toward the door that led to the backyard. I looked too and saw that the mothers were hunched together as though they were whispering among themselves.

“Now that’s just preposterous!” Said Arthur.

“Derrick, you know I’m right.” She said to my father. “These two are already ruining my party, do you want them to ruin our family name as well?”

“Susan, please.” Spoke Arthur to my mother. “Mary’s mental health is more important than-”

“Shut up, Arthur!” My father shouted, interrupting Great Uncle Arthur again. “Don’t ever talk to my wife like that, and don’t ever tell me how to take care of my child! She is my daughter, so I’ll handle it!”

“She needs proper treatment-” Arthur tried to explain before being interrupted by my father for a third time.

“She just needs to get over it and stop being so soft.” He said.

“She might try to hurt herself with treatment!” Arthur warned them. I think he was hoping to get a reaction out of them; something to get them to care.

Instead, my father, in a tone of voice that made him sound tough, said: “If she does, then it’ll be her own false.” With that, he wordlessly stomped back toward the den. Whenever he did that, it usually meant the conversation was over.

Once my father was gone, my mother stepped toward me. She kneeled so to be at eye level with me. In a stem voice, she said: “Mary, don’t tell anyone what happened here. What happens in this house, stays in this house. Understood?” Without thinking, I nodded my head. “Good girl.” She stood and faced my great uncle. She narrowed her eyes at him, then she signed. “If you want to help so much, Arthur, then you be her shrink.”

“I have a career, Susan.” Arthur protested. “I have papers to grade, students to teach. I can’t come up every week and-”

“I don’t care, Arthur!” She shouted. “Make it work!” Then she calmly walked back outside as if nothing happened.

And that how it started. Great Uncle Arthur began to see me and have “therapy sessions” with me. Sometimes, he would take me to the park and we’d play together. Other days, he would take me to see a movie and we’d talk afterward. This one time, he took me on the tour of the university where he worked. Arthur loved me like his own daughter, but he can’t always be there for me because of his career. We had no choice but to meet every other week; sometimes it was every other month.

I learned something new about my family on that day. I learned that my father not only hated his uncle, but he also hated weakness; couldn’t stand to be around weakness. He was a decorated member of the American military, he worked hard every day to provide for this family, he personally made sure that we had more then we needed, and he took pride in knowing that the family was strong. So, when he learned of my depression, he began saw to see me as the weak link of the family. I once asked Great Uncle Arthur why father was so hard-hearted. He told me that war had a way of changing people, that he didn’t mean to come across as uncaring, that my father was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, and that he refused to seek counselling.

My mother was a different story. For her, it was all about appearances. Since she didn’t work, she devoted her time to cleaning, gardening, shopping for new clothes, planning parties, and anything else that would make the house or the family look good. She pressured us into doing certain activities, wearing fancy clothes, and join certain clubs at us schools, all so she could boast to her friends about what wonderful children she had. She took pride in being a “trophy wife” and enjoying all the benefits of being married to a man with money. She was happiest when she was showing off a new and expensive to her friends; she would smile as her friends practically became green with envy. So, having such a wonderful life and still have a child with depression would look bad.

Oh, and if you’re wondering if my older sibling helped at all. Don’t waste your breath. Marine hated me the moment I came out of our mother’s womb. When I was first born, Marine refused to touch me. Flint, on the other hand, didn’t care about me at all. He didn’t even bother to feed me, even when I was crying. I don’t know how they found out, but when they did, they began to take turn whispering things in my ear while I was sleeping. They said things like, “Mom and Dad are going to put you up for adoption” and “You’re going to end up an orphan”. I knew it was them because, while they were doing it, I was awake. I had my eyes closed, but I was just pretending to be asleep. I heard my bedroom door open, I heard footsteps entering my room, and I recognize the hush voices of my siblings as they spoke into my ear.

Saved for Arthur, no one in my family cared or did anything about my depression. I was expected to neither act as though I was happy, or suffer in silence. Mother and father made me promise to never tell anyone outside of the family of my condition; to keep it “our little secret”. My father took it upon himself to monitor my mood. He would notice my lack of interest in things that previously gave me pleasure, and would punish me. Sometimes, when he was too busy, he would entrust Flint to “teach me a lesson”. As you can imagine, my depression only gotten worse and I soon became aloof toward others around me. I started not caring about what happened around me. It felt as though I was on autopilot and was just going through the motions. Don’t misunderstand. I am not saying that my family were the cause of my depression. They were just one of many factors.

Chapter 3 of “Realm of Madness”

The third chapter of “Realm of Madness” is almost done. I just need to finish writing a few more sentences and then chapter three will be done!

I’ll edit the page when I’m finish, but, in the meantime, here is a preview of chapter three.

Enjoy:

Chapter 3: My Diagnosis

Beyond the sliding glass door was our backyard. Large and colorful flowers decorated the ground. The grass was always neatly cut. An old willow tree that grew in the middle of the backyard shaded a polished white table with white fancy yard chairs sitting around it. On the table was a white vase with yellow orchids in it. A white picket fence separated our yard from the neighbor’s yard.

I found my great uncle sitting on the wooden bench on the back porch. “Great Uncle Arthur!” I shouted in glee. I ran up to him and wrapped my tiny arms around his waist. He chuckled in his gruffly and patted me on the head.

“I’m glad to see you too.” He said.

Arthur was the uncle of my father. He was about as tall my father, though, due to his bad back, he was hunched forward and looked shorter. He was over sixty and needed carry a wooden cane to help support him, but other than that he was perfectly healthy. His short, white hair was always combed back and tied into a ponytail. His bright blue eyes were always full of life and energy. He wore his usual black jacket over his usual white shirt, black pants, and black tie. My great uncle was the quintessential old man: wise, traditional, and a little grumpy at times. I loved him for it. For the longest time, he was my best friend and, through I could never say it aloud, I always felt better when he was with me.

I went to sit next to him on the bench. He looked me squarely in the eye and asked: “How are you feeling, Mary?” I could only shrug.

If you haven’t already figured out what was wrong with me, then I’ll just come out and say it: I was suffering from depression. It was because of my depression I was crying in the playground. I was always sad. Despair was constantly with me like a shadow. Somedays, it felt as if I was drowning in a sea of my own tears. It soon became harder and harder for me to get out of bed in the morning. Most days, I would refuse to eat anything. I isolated myself from my peers because I didn’t find the games that they would play enjoyable. I become so tired during the day that I sometimes sleep during my classes. The activities that the teachers would have us do didn’t bring me pleasure or joy. Almost nothing could make me happy.

It might seem odd considering how young I was. You usually don’t think about severe depression when you think about children. Children were, after all, symbols of innocence and joy. Children were supposed to bring happiness wherever they went; they didn’t get depression, only grow-ups did. Truth is, I was very different from other children. Though, I didn’t realize just how different I was until the day I spoke to Arthur.

It was about two years ago, when I was ten. We were having a small get-together in the backyard as we did on most weekends. My mother, the hostess, as always, had invited most of the block. My father and Flint were in the den playing some kind of card game with my father’s friends from the army. I could hear their boisterous laughter, even from my spot on the back porch. Meanwhile, my mother and Marine were at the table, chatting with the other mothers while enjoying some meatloaf that my mother made. “Marine is the co-head cheerleader at her school, and Flint is the star player of his basketball team!” I heard my mother boast. From my seat, I watched the children of the other families played with our yard toys. I was the only child who wasn’t playing.

Then, Arthur came up to me. He sat next to me on the bench and we started talking. He asked me why I wasn’t playing with the other children. I just broke down. I told him everything, how angry and sad I was, how tired I was during the day, how I hadn’t been eating, how I was having trouble concentrating in school, and how I been having headaches or stomachaches; I even cried into my hands.

Arthur was a professor at a university in Jersey City, in the psychology department. Before that, he was a social worker at a middle school. Even at a young age, I knew he was well-versed in child psychology, so I immediately believed him when he told me: “I believe you are suffering from early-onset depression.”

“What’s that?” I asked in between sobs.

“It’s when a young child like you feels sadder than usual.”

“Just make it stop.” I murmured under my shaking breath.

Arthur began to rub my back in a comforting gesture. It was more than enough to quiet my sobs. I removed my face from my hands and looked up at him. “Don’t fret, Mary.” He told me. “We’ll make it stop. We’ll just need the proper treatment.” As he rubbed my back, I felt a contentment that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt as though I was being looked at for the first time. I don’t mean the regular way that someone looks at someone else, I mean the special way that someone looks at someone else. How do I describe it? Usual where someone just looks at you, they’re only looking at the superficial things like clothes or hair, but when someone really looked at you, they see more than hair or clothing. They see the aura that surrounds you, and they see inside your heart. That was what Arthur did. Somehow, saw my sadness, and then took the time to listen to my problems. There was probably over a dozen people at our house, but only he saw. I liked being looked at.

“I’ll talk to your parents about finding the right psychotherapist.” Said my great uncle. At the time, I didn’t know what a psychotherapist was, but I smiled nevertheless. Someone must had saw me cry and told my mother, because it wasn’t long before I noticed my mother making her toward us. I’ve seen mother worry about their children before, but there wasn’t a hint of worry on my mother’s face. Instead, there was only annoyance.

“What did you do?!” She said in voice loud enough to sound threatening, but silent enough so the other mothers or children couldn’t hear. It already angered me, the way she blamed Arthur. Any other person would had been offended, but Arthur didn’t let it get to him. As always, my great uncle was honest and told her that there was something seriously wrong with me. “Yeah, it’s you!” She snapped at him. She grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me inside the house. Great Uncle Arthur followed closely behind us. Once inside my mother yelled for my father. “Your good-for-nothing uncle is making our daughter cry!” She told him, eventhough it wasn’t true. Upon hearing this, my father turned to his uncle and started yelling profanities at him. Whenever I tried to use my voice, my father would yell at me to stay out of it.

Arthur never raised his voice, never swore, never fought back. He took my father’s anger like a champion. When it seemed that my father’s tirade was over, my great uncle spoke. He told them exactly what I told him, word for word. “I think Mary has depression. We must get a professional opinion to be sure.” But mother and father didn’t need a professional opinion. I could tell from the shock expressions on their faces that they believed him. For my father, shock quickly turned into anger. For my mother, shock turned into disgust. Arthur started to list the different treatments and medications we could try, but was he quickly interrupted by my father, who said that he wasn’t going to waste his money on drugs.

“We need to take every opportunity to help Mary!” My great uncle protested.

“No!” Shouted my father. “WE don’t have to do anything!” He said while gesturing in between him and my mother. He then pointed at Arthur. “YOU need to stay away from my daughter!”

“Keep your voice down!” My mother ordered. “Our guests will hear us.”

“So, you won’t take her to see a counselor?” Arthur asked.

“Absolutely not!” Exclaimed my mother. She continued, this time in a much lower voice. “What if one of my friends sees me taking her to a therapist. What if they find out that one of my children has a mental disease? What if they spread rumors about us? Do you know how long it took me create an image for us?!” As she finished saying this, she glanced toward the door that led to the backyard. I looked too and saw that the mothers were hunched together as though they were whispering among themselves.

“Now that’s just preposterous!” Said Arthur.

“Derrick, you know I’m right.” She said to my father. “These two are already ruining my party, do you want them to ruin our family name as well?”

“Susan, please.” Spoke Arthur to my mother. “Mary’s mental health is more important than-”

“Shut up, Arthur!” My father shouted, interrupting Great Uncle Arthur again. “Don’t ever talk to my wife like that, and don’t ever tell me how to take care of my child! She is my daughter, so I’ll handle it!”

“She needs proper treatment-” Arthur tried to explain before being interrupted by my father for a third time.

“She just needs to get over it and stop being so soft.” He said.

“She might try to hurt herself with treatment!” Arthur warned them. I think he was hoping to get a reaction out of them; something to get them to care.

Instead, my father, in a tone of voice that made him sound tough, said: “If she does, then it’ll be her own false.” With that, he wordlessly stomped back toward the den. Whenever he did that, it usually meant the conversation was over.

Once my father was gone, my mother stepped toward me. She kneeled so to be at eye level with me. In a stem voice, she said: “Mary, don’t tell anyone what happened here. What happens in this house, stays in this house. Understood?” Without thinking, I nodded my head. “Good girl.” She stood and faced my great uncle. She narrowed her eyes at him, then she signed. “If you want to help so much, Arthur, then you be her shrink.”

“I have a career, Susan.” Arthur protested. “I have papers to grade, students to teach. I can’t come up every week and-”

“I don’t care, Arthur!” She shouted. “Make it work!” Then she calmly walked back outside as if nothing happened.

I learned something new about my family on that day. I learned that my father not only hated his uncle, but he also hated weakness; couldn’t stand to be around weak people. He was a soldier for the American military, he worked hard every day to provide for this family, he personally made sure that we had more then we needed, so when he learned of my depression, he began saw to see me as the weak link of the family. My father did have an exception: he was sympathetic toward those who were damaged by war, but was about it. I wasn’t a war veteran, so I wasn’t worth his sympathy.

My mother was a different story. For her, it was all about appear. Since she didn’t work, she devoted her time to cleaning, gardening, shopping for new clothes, planning parties, and anything else that would make the house or the family look good. She pressured us into doing certain activities, wearing fancy clothes, and join certain clubs at us schools, all so she could boast to her friends about what wonderful children she had.