Shrunken men and shoes

Sigh.

Today is the last day of November, and for many thousands of people, the last day they get to upload a word count at NaNoWriMo.org. As I mentioned before, this year I didn’t have the time to write 50,000 words, but I’ve been thinking about it and missing the thrill. The above is my word count chart as it looked exactly a year ago.

My story came along very nicely. It was (still is) mostly story and almost no padding, with loads of description and dialogue and almost no annoying weather-related similes or metaphors of which I’m terribly fond, but can get as tired as a late summer drizzle… that’s tired.

I like my story. It’s about a group of women that gather to relate something in common, something they share with a very naughty man that did a really bad thing to them. As they tell their stories something happens to him. He’s with them, listening to each woman’s account, as is his mother, a very powerful woman looking for something. Each of their experiences came from various ideas I had and notes I made long ago for short stories, and even a dream, all adapted to suit my writing needs.

Speaking of needs, here’s one of them, very intense, strong, powerful like a late summer storm… sort of need.

He's right where he belongs.

No, I’m talking about the shoes. I was looking for violet shoes as it is my wont to do from time to time, and I saw these on the first Google page that popped up on my screen. It was love at first sight. Oh, how I stare and drool at them! The brand is L’Autre Chose, and the price is over $200.00, so I’ll have to wait until nothing more pressing needs pecuniary attention (40-50 years), and then you bet I’ll make them mine.

Until then, I’ll picture my little guy in them, visiting, playing, slipping through that toe-peeping space, exploring, writing his name on the sole, and finally falling asleep on the soft material in the toe section so I’ll find him there, spot him just as I’m about to step into them. Of course I pretend I don’t see him, and get a very giant kick out of feeling his little hands push against my slowly descending foot as he chirps out, “No! You silly giantess! Can’t you see I’m down here?”

And of course I say, “Why, no, Little One! I certainly did not see you down there! How could I, when you are so little, tiny, small, hard to see?”

And then he gives me one of his red-cheeked, outraged looks I love to imagine.

I think I’ll find a way to put these shoes in my story when I get around to editing it.

He'll pay for what he's done to that high-heel shoe. Probably.

2007 was my third year doing NaNoWriMo, and in previous years I had a few ideas on what to write. Last year I only had one in the beginning, but it’s one I loved. The title is “All About Steve”, inspired by the collage above.

I started collecting the elements for it over two years ago, and in the beginning it was only going to be a tiny-man-and-giant-shoe image. I worked on it, finishing it rather quickly, since I only had to add the man to the shoe image. I sat in front of my computer a year ago, looking at it, thinking about the few shadows I needed to add, when I felt that thing… that tingly something in the back on my mind that tells me An Idea is about to arrive within the next few seconds, and then, POW! I saw him, his life, all about him.

I thank Bette Davis’ movie for the story title, but that’s where any vague similarity ends. I went looking for a weapon he could use, and knew exactly the one I was going to give him, and I gave him a target painted on the heel of that giant shoe. A blasphemy, heinous sacrilege for a shoe lover like me, but there’s a point to the abomination.

In the end I didn’t write anything about Steve, and saved his story for this year’s novel, which I didn’t write. I’m still planning on doing it, and I can also mention that the rifle he’s holding is a wonderful, tempting, luscious bolt-action Mosin-Nagant 91-30 sniper rifle, the kind that makes weapon collectors and lovers drool. That rifle both places Steve in great danger, and saves his life.

If his rifle seems too long, there’s a reason behind that. I also gave him a scar as I was finalizing the image. I still don’t know how he got it.

Tears For Fears – Head Over Heels

Punishment

It’s still Saturday, so that means…

RANDOM COLLAGE TIME!

Get up there, little guy! On the double!

The story behind the collage later. Maybe tomorrow.

Thing One – Thief

La Moto

Repost from me olde blog.

How can he ride tied up like that? Well, that's not my problem!

Motorcycles are in my blood. My father and uncles have owned and loved them, and consequently so do some of my brothers. Women in my family, not so much, unless I count that scooter my cousin rode for a while.

I’d like to think my love for motorcycles is in my blood, but I’ve never owned one, so I’m not sure. I am positive, however, that my dad is surprised he’s alive after all the accidents he had in his youth, back when helmets were for chickens. He stopped rolling under trucks and leaping over cars after he got married and started sprouting, as did my uncles after losing a few body parts. My cousin had a scooter accident as well, but I’m not counting it, since she hardly bled at all, and the scars don’t cover more than 0.1% of her body.

I probably never will own a motorcycle, and if I ever got the money to buy one I’d spend it on guns, but that doesn’t stop me from loving the idea of owning one someday and including them in my collages, so here’s my first motorcycle-related one. There are more in the works, and I repeat, they will be ready about the time we finally elect our first female president. Well, when you elect, since I can’t vote.

As to the inspiration for motorcycle collages… it falls smack between the adventurous and the ridiculous, and as a tall fan of both I felt prompted to write this little scene.

I love having motorcycle races with my Little One. He has his own small one that looks like a toy that runs on batteries, one that couldn’t possibly catch up with the sleek monstrosity I ride, its engine too inadequate for the speeds mine reaches. Yet, invariably, he beats me every time.

How? I never know. All I know is that every weekend we get wake up and get ready for another race. We dress in the meanest fabrics we can possibly find, and wear the cruelest boots imaginable. We forget about the studs, though. He’s the only stud I need, in any case.

We ride to the dirt road where we always compete (you see, my Harley Goliathson is also a heretic dirt bike), and before we take off, we place our bets. If he wins, I have to make him dinner, and if I win, he has to do the same for me. You can imagine that at that size, the idea of cooking a meal for his giantess is terrifying.

Somehow, he never loses. He always takes off at the same time I do, and when I finally reach our dusty goal, he’s always there, pretending he’s napping, he’s been “waiting for me for so long”.

Until I discover he’s been putting Super Special Mega Giant Fuel in his little toy machine. When I find out this treachery, I decide to teach him a little lesson as we prepare to race again, and tie him up on his tiny motorcycle after its tank’s been filled up with toy petrol.

Somehow, he still wins anyway.

* * *

And this song is more appropriate for an entry regarding snipers, but it always plays in my head when I look at my collage.

Franz Ferdinand – Take Me Out

Happy Thanksgiving Day!

"shrunk-71" by TheShrinkee

I wrote a slightly different version of this poem three holiday seasons ago, and posted it at Giantess.com, on a Happy Thanksgiving! thread. I remember laughing a great deal when I wrote it. I enjoyed coming up with images such as these that include members of the board I visited spending holidays together in a way that would never happen in real life, but was fun and even adorable to imagine within the realm of playful fantasies.

I wish a Happy Thanksgiving Day for everyone! I hope you get to spend it with those people you love, whether you celebrate it or not. My religious preferences make me feel inclined to be grateful because I have people I love, and while there are some of them very far away from me, I’m grateful I get to talk with them on the phone. In my heart, nothing is as treasured as my family.

I surreptitiously obtained the Turkey Time collage above from the flickr.com gallery of one of my favorite collagers, TheShrinkee. My stealth is unparalleled.

And the only thing about this poem I’m sorry about is not how cheesy it is, but that I could not include more members in it.

‘Twas the Day Of Thanksgiving

‘Twas the day of Thanksgiving, when at Oz’s house
all the members were stirring, some the size of a mouse.
The turkey was laid on the table with care,
and the smell of taters and stuffing, rolls and pie in the air.

Then Chubby came in, a keg of beer on his head
while grunters cheered and muttered, “wel dirnk til were ded“
And D.X. in his loose pants, and Taran in wide chaps,
had just set off to fill their plates without gap.

When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
they sprang from the house to see what was the matter.
Away to the window Dharker flew like a flash,
Trek opened the shutter, Zapped ripped off the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the luster of midday to objects below,
when, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
but a group of giantesses that quaked the ground near.

And every member, so lively and quick,
Nemo, Moments, NFalc, and Crick.
grabbed onto something, as the giantesses came,
whistled and shouted and called them by name:

“Hi Redhead! Hi Violet!
Hi Fairia! Hi Kitty!
Hi Faith! All our Giantesses!
We’re delighted and giddy!”

And over the top of the porch!
Over the top of the wall!
They peeled off the roof
and ate turkey, rolls, and all!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with the wind rush of a giantess nigh
so up to the house-top some members flew,
they knew not to hold on. Disthron said, “Get a clue!”

And then, in a twinkling, giant hands came down
to assist those tiny bodies that were swirling around.
As from Violet’s pocket came a voice, a lil squeak,
pintsize said, “I’m used to that too, don’t worry, don’t freak.”

When all the lil guys were back on the ground,
they turned and returned to Oz’s house, not a sound.
could be heard over the rumble and roar,
of those feminine voices that giggled a downpour.

Their eyes–how they twinkled! Their dimples, how merry!
Their cheeks were like roses, their lips like a cherry!
Their gigantic mouths were drawn up like a bow,
and the teeth ‘tween their lips were as white as the snow.

The food was all gone, the giantess had eaten
every single pie, glass of beer, their hunger not beaten
They had billboard-sized faces and still rolling bellies,
their shoulders shook when they laughed, made our knees feel like jelly.

So tall, members thought, “We’re the size of shrunken elves,”
and they laughed when they saw them, in spite of themselves.
A wink of their eyes and a twist of their heads
soon gave lil ones to know they had nothing to dread.

They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
and filled all the tables with new food as they smirked.
It came from their pockets, those womanly clothes,
and giving a nod, they wiggled their toes.

Lil members sprang to the table, and ate til they burst,
or so felt as they rubbed their tummies. AW said, “Could be worse…
…they could have decided to eat us, you know?
Yet to Boy that would cause no woe….”

But nobody heard him, as they slumbered
to sleep off their meal. The giantesses whispered,
“Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good night!”

Monsters vs. Aliens

Last night I popped Kung Fu Panda into my DVD player, and of course trailers precede the movie, and there I was, sitting quietly getting ready to watch something fun, getting into the holiday season, plotting delicious things to cook the following evening, and WAMMO-KABLAM-SHAZAM-SKADOOSHHHH I see a trailer for Monsters vs. Aliens.

Actually, the trailer was well underway before the whole wammo / kablam / shazam bit began, but as all of you that have TVs and go to the theaters know, there’s a giantess in this animated feature. I had not heard of this movie at all with the exception of one mention at MattyBoy’s Lotsa ‘Splainin’ many months ago, and since I’m not into giantesses I was all, “Meh”.

But no, no meh. True, giantesses don’t do anything for me, unless I imagine I’m that giantess. Reading about the film did nothing for me, but watching the trailer did.

Those that think women are not visual creatures, I have two words for them. They begin with fuck, and end with you.

I’d say something far less rude to those people right now, but I gots pies to bake, and I’m feeling punchy. And.. well, he-heh… it wasn’t exactly the vision of that white-haired giantess that got me all inspired, but it’s the idea of being a protective giantess I’m crazy about. I’m so into it I’ve had dreams about it. Really good dreams.

Truly really very GOOD dreams.

That could be me except for the hair and face and body and animosity from pugnacious soldiers that have no idea what I could do to their twig-like bodies.

So it isn’t that it’s a movie for kids. It has nothing to do with the pixels of an animated giantess. It’s the other stuff that’s in my head that starts screaming, “Hey, there’s a reminder of us for ya!” when I see her.

Got pies to bake. I’m off like a dirty shirt!

P.S. Man, taking photos of my TV with my camera makes me feel like I’m making a mixed tape off radio station music. I have no fancy way of capturing film and moving it to my Mac… but that’s OK with me.

Faking more stuff…

Another image of a man nuts about giant feet.

Years ago I decided to play a word game at my old blog. There were rules, and basically it amounted to using any excuse to write about giantesses and shrunken men.

I played it with another GDC blogger who goes by Little Squid around these parts, and I’d give him two words, daring him to use them to come up with an interesting group of paragraphs, a poem, anything that would include interaction between a little guy and a much larger woman.

After completing his entry he would give me two words, and dare me to use them, and so on. We went back and forth like that for a while, and it was fun while it lasted.

This fake newspaper article is something that came to me as I was trying to figure out how to use the words stanchion and febrile for the game. I lifted some online newspaper article sections and Firefox browser elements because I was too lazy to come up with every single pixel on my own. I changed link names, logos, dates, and whatever error I might have missed is there to stay, because I’m done with it.

It was great to imagine a world where little people use something I think is called “The Pipeline” as their own little Internet, because everything web-related has names connected with their little underground routes, sewer passage ways, grass-level roads, etc.

I closed my eyes and I could see those little computers that aren’t PC or Mac compatible, but use their own insignificant operating system called Vereda (“sidewalk” in Spanish), and bitty people sign on to get on the Pipeline via Speedroach, their browser of preference.

And here’s what I imagined shrunken folks would see if they looked up “giantess Corelia”- Oh, and I love those fake ad links next to the fake article. I saved them a long time ago when they were entries during a contest at Giantess.com, obviously about fake ads. The first one was created by Dharker Syde, and I can’t remember who did the second one. If anyone recalls who it was, please let me know so I can make mention of it.

The Dollhouse

"Hello, little one."

It’s the perfect place for a little man.

The best design has a balcony perfect for romantic visits and chats, a little porch where I can place a swing for him that I can make move just with the wind and boom of my nearby steps, and many rooms where I can stash his little manly furnishings, tools, books, and all those things that almost make him feel normal sized, that is until I drop by for a visit.

Madness – Our House

Giantess Turkey Revenge

An explanation for this collage does not exist.

Except it does.

The above was my entry for a Giantess.com image contest titled “Holiday Giantess” that took place two years ago.

Yes, of course I’m joking.

But it is what I imagined back in 2006 is what happens when you give a turkey costume to a giantess that also happens to be an animal rights activist.

Why would I create such an image, you ask? I’m not sure. Mostly to amuse myself, and also because two years ago I was served tofurkey at a house I visited during Thanksgiving, and was told it was delicious before I had a taste. It isn’t delicious, and it has nothing to do with the collage above, so I’m going to stop trying to explain it.

Well, no, I’ll try again, mostly because I’m still trying to understand it myself. Here I am, with this hobby, this little past-the-time activity of creating collages as beautiful as I can possibly make them, and then I feel compelled to come up with this abomination.

For a moment it might have been a protest about those vegetarians and that horrible tofurkey, but I have nothing against being vegetarian. In fact, I was a vegetarian for an entire year myself, and loved every minute of it until a visit to Disney World threw me off the bandwagon, but that’s a story for no other time. My point is that tofurkey is just a foul, terrible thing to do to me.

But as I was saying, I got to thinking what it would be like if a giantess that was also vegetarian was invited to a Thanksgiving Day parade, and she decided it was time to make a statement about the birds she so dearly loves alive, and she was also deeply insane. Ya know, the kind of mad that destroys while saying it wants to create? The kind that prefers animals to people?

So this otherwise lovely and beautiful (you can’t see her gorgeous looks because she’s wearing that stupid costume) giantess goes on a rampage, and while she roasts herself a city, she asks the population, “How do you like it? Not nice to get crispy and juicy and melt-in-the-mouth delicious, is it now? Uh? Uh?”

But then she takes a break from all the killing, and gets hungry, and has a taste of roasted building, and starts getting into vore.

Ever seen a vegetarian fall off the wagon? It’s not pretty.

The end.

…is what I would say if this entry was over, but I do have something else to write. I’m going to be cutting back on the blogging here for a few weeks, not only because of the holidays, but also because I’m going to be knee deep in real life work. I’ll still post an entry here and there, but it’s not going to be a daily affair.

Also, I’m running out of my own collages, so the timing is perfect.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving, y’all!

Piano Keys

He can only play a small piece, the little thing.

Once upon a time I knew that collaging meant I would find a way to include my love of music in the images I’d create. From the moment I started having these fantasies, I’ve dreamed of a tiny man that loved music as much as I did, perhaps more, because he could play an instrument in a way I could not, and still cannot. I play my keyboard at the astounding velocity of three keys per minute, and I still catch myself thinking of notes on music sheets as “squiggly things.

A long time ago, when I first closed my eyes and saw this little guy in my mind, I knew that I gave him a little house where he could live, but he made it a home with the life he infused in every minute room. His body, as tiny as the smallest doll’s, wasn’t taller than any of my fingers, but his mind was occupied by brilliance from the very moment I “met” him. This shining intellect included the ability to play the piano, and consequently there was always a music room in the dollhouse.

In there, he could sit and scribble on tiny little paper rectangles lined almost imperceptibly to me, but to him rough parallels where he could place notes—squiggly things—that made beautiful music. Oh, he didn’t think so. Often I’d lift the dollhouse roof to peruse through the things he’d leave behind, and discover crumb-sized sheets wadded tightly in the thimble that doubled as trash can, because he didn’t like what he had composed.

But I’d save every single one of them. I’d secret them away and with tweezers straighten them gently, flattening them with a blunt-tipped instrument (fingertips contain natural oils that are damaging to such delicate works), and saving them in a special place. I’d never tell him I had all he’d every written, but I think he’d know anyway.

I loved to imagine sitting by the dollhouse, or bringing my body down all the way to the floor, pressing my ear to his little music room while he practiced, and oh, how I adored to listen to those infinitesimal keys take flight with the feathery pressure of his fingers, each no bigger than a grain of rice, yet gifted with the motion that carried beautiful tuned to my ears. Sometimes he sang along, out of key, but tenderly, intimately, as though every word he vocalized was a foreign language that always meant my name.

I still think about those things, and many more that relate to music, so when I found the elements for Piano Keys I was captivated by a similar story that unraveled in my mind, as they all do. In it, my beloved Little Man has been shrinking for a while, and still hasn’t reached his final height of two delicate little inches. He can still climb on furniture, do simple chores, wear readily available doll clothes, etc. But there’s something he can no longer do: play the upright piano in the living room. He misses it, and yearns to sit on that stool that now looms over him, to produce music as he once did, to collect smiles on my face as he plays a lively tune.

So I catch him looking at it, and knowing his heart as I do, I offer him a lift to those keys he can now only play with two arms instead of ten fingers… and I ask him to teach me to play. He shakes his head and smiles at my request, and I feel my heart jump, because when he smiles there’s nothing more important happening anywhere else in the world. So he kneels on six keys only as he tells me what to do with the rest of the keys. We always end up playing invented music for two.

Edvard Grieg – Lyric Pieces IV, Op. 47, No. 3: Melodie

Red Fishnets

It’s Saturday, so that means…

RANDOM COLLAGE TIME!

Anywhere a shrunken man can be draped is a lovely place.

For this collage I had to create shadows that gave dimension to the shrunken man lying on the woman’s calf, and implemented my new awareness that shadows are not always gray to black. Skin always reflects and bounces off surfaces in reds and pinks and many other colors, and using the drop shadow style can be helpful, but most of the time it’s useless or detrimental, since “dropped” shadows can’t be edited to change color.

So, I made his shadow a bit red, using the clone tool to copy sections of her shadows onto his, with some degree of transparency. Another thing I had to keep in mind is that shadows aren’t always exactly parallel with the limb or body that originates them. On a surface, a body’s different parts can create a tide of shadows that ebbs and flows, and the more I apply that, the more realistic I’m observing my shadows are becoming.

All that aside, I love his size. I remember I wanted to create a collage using the image of a lady that was not skin and bones, and when I found the background I thought it was perfect for that purpose. The background of someone who doesn’t starve herself for photo shoots, and at the same time not reaching a Jabba-the-Hutt shape where the poor little guy would get lost in the moldy folds of blubber… in other words, someone closer in curves to everyday women.

But back to his size, and to how adorable it is. I have a preference for two inches as the “perfect” height for a shrunken man, but I’m also able to enjoy all other sizes and their benefits. A doll-sized man can reach his keeper’s calf, maybe prefer it as a resting place if he’s not much of a foot fan… although at that height I’d rather think his preferences are predicated by hers.

There are many perfect man-as-a-pet sizes, and this is one of them.

David Bowie – Absolute Beginners