Monday, August 29, 2011

Pixels: 1920s Characters

Gentle Reader,

I was so proud of these 1920s-style character portraits I made that I just had to share them.


Needless to say, these are for a project I'm working on for my portfolio.

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Inspired: Edith Head


Gentle Reader,

Edith Head was a Hollywood costume designer from the 1920s until her death in 1981.  Her designs were genius and her resume is beyond impressive:  chief costumer for both the Paramount and Universal studios, a favorite of the stars that she dressed, often asked for by name, a published author, a brilliant marketer, and ultimately the person to win more Academy Awards than anyone other female performer or designer--eight in total.  In fact, Edith was nominated for an Oscar every year from 1948 to 1966.

Edith was certainly among the most effective self-promoters in history.  In her younger years, while barely making it as an elementary school teacher, she billed herself as an art instructor in order to advance herself.  She didn't let the fact that she had only the most rudimentary knowledge of the subject get in her way.  No, she shored up her lack of art education by taking night classes on the sly, and apparently did quite well at it.

Later, when Edith went to Hollywood, she realized that her lack of a professional portfolio was holding her back.  Undeterred, she cobbled together a folder filled with designs and sketches that had been discarded by other artists, signed her name on them, and presented the work as her own.  Deceitful?  Well, yes, and I really can't condone it.  The point is that she knew she had the skill to back it up, and she had the guts to go for her dream despite the obstacles.  Despite her tactics, I can't help but admire her spirit.

Edith's philosophy can be summed up as follows:
  • You can have anything you want, if you work hard and sell yourself.
  • Be ready to sacrifice the accepted way of doing things in favor of whatever works for you.
  • You design yourself.  So, design as many selves as you need to get by.
  • And of course, dress the part.

Well!  Looks like I'm four for four.  How about you?

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Thursday, August 25, 2011

I have my first client!

Gentle Reader,

I am thrilled to announce that I have my first client for my fledgling content generation and marketing one-man show.  It is the acclaimed Autumn's Touch Cleaning Services here in lovely Omaha, owned and operated by my even lovelier friend Autumn.  Right now I am creating a simple marketing plan for Autumn including copy and designs for brochures, sales ideas and strategies, and also a developed LinkedIn profile if Autumn will allow.  It's very satisfying to have customer #001.  Here's to many more!

Link added 8/30/2011:
Autumn's LinkedIn Profile

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Words to Live By

Never give up on something that you can't go a day without thinking about.
-- Author Unknown

(Thanks, Jake.) 

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

A Poem

Gentle Reader,

Here is a poem that I wrote in college.  That would have been 1998 or thereabouts.  I don't think it's fit for publication, but I like it enough to waste post it here.

* * *

Princess and Dragon

She hears him alight beside her bed
then sees his wings by the light of her candle.
Now the same claws that rended shields
gently yet tightly affix to her wrists.
His tail forms a ring, drawing her closer
snout against lips and scales upon breast
pulling her toward the moon, the window
with talon, tooth, and horn in turn.

Being ripped so abruptly from the deep of sleep
she has no prayer of resisting.
So he takes her up, into wind and cloud
and far beyond forest, mountain, and stream
until come morning he lets them both fall
along with the dew to unfamiliar ground.

* * *

I think I was reading way too much Yeats.

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Monday, August 22, 2011

UPDATE - Game Project: Afterlife

Gentle Reader,

Please indulge me while I post additional images from AFTERLIFE, my video game project.  Those who have been following this project for the past year or so will recognize that most of the screens show new content not included in the released demo.

Images: 
 
Oooh, atmosphere.
The gang's all here.
Burning the midnight oil.
Trouble's brewin'.
An unexpected friend.
I deal with gatekeepers in my job, too.
A little clirk-on-clirk action for you technophiles.
Links:
AFTERLIFE version 2 demo download
RPG Toolkit Site

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Story Extract: This Life is for Lovers

Gentle Reader,

The following text is an excerpt from a short story, the rough draft of which I recently completed.

* * *

Marie-Ange Devoisin lived a long time ago.  She was all alone.  Her father was two years dead, a casualty of the Great War, his bones in an unknown grave far from home.  Mother went a year later, a victim of the influenza that swept the world once the fighting was over.  Marie-Ange's village, like most in the region, was left depopulated by the war and the plague.  Her friends were gone, as were the young men she might have married.  She was too old for the orphanage, and so she stayed on in the home of her parents.  Her only companions were a tired sheepdog and the cats that lived in the barn.

Marie-Ange had no experience in the ways of the world, and she did not know how to maintain her family's farm.  The few hands who remained left in search of other work, and the farm fell apart.  So Marie-Ange, having no source of income, threw herself upon the mercy of the church.  Each day she walked the road from her home to the village.  It was a lonely stretch bordered with fields gone wild, lined with broken fences, and dotted with the empty cottages of families she once knew.  She would go to the convent and ask the nuns if they had work for her.  On most days, they did.  Marie-Ange would scrub floors or wash linens or see to dirty dishes.  The work was intense and often lasted the entire day.  For her trouble, Marie-Ange would receive a few coins, or a meal, or both if she was lucky.  The nuns were kind to her, but they made Marie-Ange ache for the warmth of her mother.

Some days, however, the nuns had nothing for Marie-Ange to do.  They would shake their heads and frown at her sternly.  They would tell her to go to the church and pray that God would rescue her from her plight.  Marie-Ange respected the nuns, but she rarely complied with their instruction.  Instead she would take the path through the forest to the shrine of Santo Christobal, and do her praying there.

All her life, Marie-Ange had heard the legend of Santo Christobal.  He was a priest from Navarre, more a boy than a man, and a recent inductee into religious life.  He travelled to France en route to the Holy Land, as part of the Crusades, and came upon Marie-Ange's village as it was under siege by heretics.  Santo Christobal cursed the raiders in the name of the Lord, as the prophet Elisha had done, and the earth opened up and swallowed them.  Santo Christobal, however, was felled by a spear, and died on the spot where the shrine now stood.  He was credited with many miracles over the centuries, the most spectacular of which was his incorruptible body.  For while Santo Christobal had lain in repose for some seven hundred years, he still looked as if he had died only yesterday.

* * *

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Monday, August 15, 2011

About the Blog's Name

Gentle Reader,

Not that anyone has asked me where the title of this blog came from... but in case someone wonders, here is the story behind it.

The title is from the last line of a poem that I wrote back in college.  This would have been around 2000 or 2001.  We had an assignment to write a piece about a relative or ancestor that contained particular elements.  I chose my great-grandfather, my mother's mother's father, as he was on my mind at the time.

Here is the piece that I wrote.

* * *

Grandfather, 1939

My grandfather wore a peculiar mustache
but he took his last good razor to it
as Germany picked at the bones of Poland.
I imagine him
through lean years as a refugee
when a fresh blade was a happy dream
and his lip's only comfort
was the mercy of calluses.

* * *

The title will also play a prominent role in an upcoming project.

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Game Project: Afterlife

Gentle Reader,

AFTERLIFE is an original adventure game that I am creating use the RPG Toolkit game creation system.

Links:
AFTERLIFE version 2 demo download
RPG Toolkit Site

Project Introduction from RPG Toolkit site:
An intact human body is worth less than five dollars when broken down into its component minerals.  But imagine if we could make that body into a tireless, uncomplaining work machine.  Then how much would a body be worth?  And what lengths would people go to, to either control this technology... or destroy it?

About the Project text from RPG Toolkit site:
Afterlife is an adventure game which I have been developing for about a year.  If you enjoy games like Snatcher, Clock Tower, or Shadowgate, then you will probably enjoy Afterlife.

This game does not use a stats system, does not feature special abilities or equipment, does not have a multi-character party, and has a very simple battle engine.  The object is to travel around, meeting characters and obtaining evidence.  Showing the right evidence to the right character opens up new options and advances the story.

The world of Afterlife is set in the future and references some fantasy technology.  However, it is a familiar world with many homages to classic mysteries and detective stories, 1940s film noir, cheesy science fiction, and 1980s and 90s anime-influenced video RPGs.

Images:
Title Screen
Your Girl Friday
Friend or Foe?
In-Game Menu
Traveling Between Locations
Ambivalent Feelings About Restrooms
Battle System
Exploration

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Story Extract: Too Ugly to Live

Gentle Reader,

The following text is an excerpt from a short story, the rough draft of which I recently completed.

* * *

The drive to the end of the road was about thirty minutes, and it passed through varied terrain.  There was an industrial area with mills and factories and vast yards of semi trucks.  Then cornfields, then soy, then other beans in flooded patches.  He saw cattle and horses in their pens.  The sprawling farmland looked to him like a fairy tale kingdom, green fields crisscrossed with meandering streams and patches of woodland.  The massive grain elevators on the horizon were like castles that governed and protected their patches of countryside.  This was the magic place, he thought.  Beautiful and maybe a little bit wild.  The type of place where wonderful things can happen, if one is lucky enough to happen upon them.  If he found a good spot, he would pull over and take pictures and look through binoculars.  If he was very lucky, he might think he saw something fantastic, like a coyote crossing a field.  Or, he might find something unexpected, like an Indian head penny.  All of it magic.  Like it was Oz country.

It was a particularly lovely day, dry for summer, sunny and warm but not uncomfortable.  The road circled a hill that sloped gently into a valley of ponds and cultivated fields.  He wished there was a place to stop and take a picture, and then suddenly, he saw just the place.  There was a little gravel inlet off to his right that passed through a clearing in the trees.  It opened out onto a flat and open part of the hill.  Smiling, he braked and turned in.  The view was glorious.  It really did look like a storybook.  The southern horizon was clear, untouched by buildings or trees, unlike the hilly and forested ground to either side of him.  At his feet were wheel ruts that led down toward the fields.  He thought of the generations of carts and wagons that must have passed that way.

One thing that caught his eye was the path that the road took through the valley.  It had curved quite a bit on its way through the hills, but once in the lowlands, it straightened out again, approaching its original shape and direction.  But then, about halfway across the valley, it veered to the right at a ninety degree angle.  It looked like it had probably been a proper T intersection once, but now, the far section of the road, the portion beyond the curve, was missing.  Yes--when he looked closer, he could see how the copse of trees across the road was split down the middle, marking the path that the road used to take.

Now that's a funny thing, he thought.  There used to be a road there, but not anymore.  What happened to it? 

* * *

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Story Extract: Tuesday Night at the Rue Vulgaire

Gentle Reader,

The following text is an excerpt from a short story in progress.

* * *

La Rue Vulgaire.  The vulgar street.  So this was the shell into which she retreated, that Venus he spied long ago from aboard a mighty ship.  Vulgar was an apt description.  The Rue smelled of smoke and drink and was much too dark no matter the hour.  The furnishings were red and black, worn, burned by cigars, old-fashioned, frequently damaged and poorly repaired.  The carpet was cheap and mashed flat.  The stains in the fabric were only partially hidden by subdued, rosy lighting that tried too hard to downplay the tacky surroundings, the blotchy complexions of patrons, and the tasteless art that adorned the walls in a lame attempt at eroticism.  Vulgar to be sure, and while not a brothel, it looked, smelled, and sounded like a gathering place of whores more than of pure-hearted ladies or well-traveled gentlemen of leisure.  Yet this was where he found himself, a wayfarer in search of nameless love.

How long had he sought her?  A century or more?  The years piled behind him, blending into an amalgamation that was vague aside from its singular purpose.  He knew in the moment he looked down upon that lady--with her parasol falling back to reveal her face, the haunted look in her eyes, the way she waved her handkerchief at him when she caught him watching her--that she was designed only for him, and he for her.  So he sought the one item that might bring her close, though he knew not even her name, let alone her story.  For decades he traveled all the wide world, from the chalk cliffs of Britannia to the sands of Araby, from Cathay's great wall to the depths of the dark continent.  Then, at last, he found his treasure, and with it he began his second and even more difficult quest:  to find that lady again despite her anonymity.  It would seem, to the rational mind, like an impossible task, but these lengths are nothing to the foolish, or to the desperate, or to the steadfast of heart.

* * *

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

Step into my parlor.

Gentle Reader,

Welcome to my blog.  This site is intended as a semi-interactive portfolio for my assorted works and projects.  Please feel free to comment on anything you see.  I can also be reached via e-mail or my LinkedIn account, links to which are posted publicly on my profile.

Thank you for visiting!  I hope to see you around.

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy