It's been a long time since I posted anything here, so I figured it's time to provide a brief update.

Music is amazing.

Of all art forms I've been exposed to, I can easily say music is my definite favorite. Sure, there are songs and styles I dislike, but as a whole, music does what so many other mediums fail to do.

When playing music, I feel free. Whether it's the pursuit of perfection in a pre-written piece, or going wherever my slide decides to take me in an improvisation, everything else seems to vanish. In those moments, it's just me and my horn, me and the band, me and the rhythm. It doesn't matter what stressors I have in my life, and it doesn't matter what the world around me is doing; all there is, is music. Emotions normally relegated to a background process are given a free space in which they can play, and all my focus can be funneled into one endeavor. As much as I love to joke about romanticized descriptions of "self-expression" and such, music really is a great way to show little piece of yourself to the world.

But even when I'm not the one playing the music, I still find myself in awe of it. A well-composed piece can move me to tears faster than anything else I can think of, and I absolutely love the feeling of finding a song with lyrics that give a voice to a feeling I had but could never explain. There's so much to admire in a great song: musicianship, composition, message, performance. It's incredible.

Another thing I absolutely love about music is its variety. I consider myself to have a pretty broad taste in music, but the more I listen to, the more I realize I haven't even begun to scratch the surface. So many cultures with so many sounds and so many tales to tell. It's crazy, it's overwhelming, and it's awesome.

Really, music is less a way of life to me, as life is a piece of music.

If there's one thing I love to do, it's research (with the exception of having to research mundane topics for school projects), and sometimes, when researching, I come across some pretty random stuff. Yesterday's quest for reference pictures for my little sallet drawings was no exception to this, and google images in particular offered some pretty great randomness. In fact, I went on such an adventure in chaos, that I have enough screenshots to make a journal out of.



First off, a somewhat amusing look-alike I found while looking for a good profile view of a German style sallet:





Then, proof that you cannot escape politics, even when just looking for a nice reference photo. What confuses me most is why this would even pop up--but seeing as Shutterstock is involved, I really shouldn't be surprised, now should I?






Then, while looking for medieval hairstyles, I found this masterpiece of a lame pun. (But in a time when most women did not work, what reason would she have to hate Mondays?... Suspicious...)



My quest eventually transported me to the realms of Youtube (if you want to gain a better understanding of how armour works so you can draw it, I highly recommend the channel Knyght Errant) and, once there, I came across this masterful conspiracy theory of an ad. I mean, I've gotten some weird ads on Youtube before, but this one was tin-foil hat caliber conspiracy theorizing. What gets me most is the "(Disturbing)" in the title. Soooo disturbing--or at least, it's disturbing if you feel like buying into very loosely connected accounts with next to nothing verifying them.




Then, finally, I found myself distracted, and watching a video on the correct usage of the phrase "Mamma mia" when I came across this glorious little image. Ah Metatron, your videos range from informative to "why are you making this" and I love it!





So, that's all the randomness for now. Hope some of you found this eclectic mix half as amusing as I did. And no, I'm not just making this because I have no idea what to do for writing on Wednesdays... pfft... no.
Well, before I ramble on too much:
Over 'n out.

Consider this the first, rather late, installment of Writing Wednesdays. This is a smallish excerpt based off a screenplay I was writing several months ago that I scrapped after having realized I didn't know enough about the craft of film to write a screenplay. I loved the small concept of a setting I had established, and with some changes made to the characters, I came up with this. So, I present to you, the first part of this story. Perhaps I will turn it into a long running thing, but at the moment, it is but a rough excerpt and an experiment.

"Anonymous"

Sierra Ceniza: March 17.

    I had forgotten the joys of anonymity. No stares followed me, no questions were asked, no skeptics blocked my path. For once, navigating the streets of Sierra Ceniza was a simple affair.

    It would not last long.

    The moment I had to open my mouth to speak, my unknown identity would shatter. With a dull white sky and a reading of 3 degrees centigrade, no was was about to be fooled by an appeal to the cold.

    Until I was prompted to speak, I was just another silent woman buried under layers of winter clothing. Until my infamous stutter broke my words and broke the chances of completing my task, I could work.

    For a moment, I had felt confident. For a moment, I was a delusional idiot.

    A man, almost as buried in scarves and jackets as I am, began to walk in my direction. I tried to remain calm; the odds of him being intent on dealing with me were low. As the two of us walked, it became apparent that my suspicions were being confirmed.

    Instead of turning my back and making myself vulnerable, I resolved myself to deal with this threat head on. Picking up the pace, I stormed towards him. We paused two feet away from each other.

    “Kitania?”

    My breath hissed from between my teeth. He knew.

    I gestured for him to follow, and walked towards the recessed corner of a building near us. Once out of earshot and sight, I whipped my pistol from its holster and aimed it at his throat. My precaution was a gamble, but no one seemed to notice that I had just pulled a gun on a stranger.

    “What the h-hell do you want from me?”

    Moving with nonthreatening deliberation, he lifted the goggles from his eyes and regarded me with a peculiar expression.

    “Don’t take this the wrong way… but it’s a little concerning that you don’t recognize me.”

    My eyes narrowed. I had no recollection of his voice, and his face seemed like that of a stranger I had spotted on some street years ago. I could not fathom how he knew my name--my full name at that--and contented myself to staring at him as I tried to piece things together.

    “I’ll give you a hint,” he said, “my name starts with a C.”

    It was another piece of the puzzle, and more revealing than it seemed at face value. If they had known me better, they would also have know their little clue was of limited use. I figured they must have been a distant stranger who thought they had pierced deeper into my memory than they had.

    “You can drop the act Kit, I know you’re glad to see me.”

    I shook my head, trying to convey my reply without words. He examined my expression with the same intensity as I did his. The lack of reactivity I saw there struck me as odd.

    “Nothing…” he murmured at last. “You really have forgotten me.”

    For an instant, there was a flash of sadness on his face, but he hid it almost as soon as it appeared. The speed of his reaction impressed me. If he proved as adept as reading expressions as hiding them, I would be doomed.

    So, instead of hiding it, I raised an eyebrow and let my confusion be known. For reasons unknown to me, that small gesture broke him, and the frown that had flickered over his features set itself into permanence. With a puff of breath and a glance off to the side, he placed his palm over the top of my pistol and pushed it down. A risky move, but until I knew who the chap was, I had no intentions of shooting him.

    “Cyril. Cyril Valdesquez.” Our eyes locked, mine having widened with recognition. “I saved your life and you made sure to teach me why I was a fool for having done so.”

    Now, with a name to match to a legacy, I felt like the idiot I was for not recognizing him sooner. His identity was glaring in hindsight. I could not understand how his face had been a mystery just moments before.

    In all my mighty tact, I stuttered “I th-thought you were dead” as I holstered my weapon.