Ruby

This is Ruby the bantam cockatrice, the latest in bored doodling technology.
For those of you who don't know, a bantam is the poultry equivalent to a miniature pony. On average, they're about six inches tall (as compared to the fourteen or so-inch 'standard' chicken), and the hens lay eggs about the size of a ping-pong ball (takes a lot of them to make an omelet). The roosters, however, serve absolutely no purpose other than the fact that they're entertaining. Like standard roosters, they place great value in intimidating all other creatures within their domain and establishing themselves as king of the coop. Unlike standards, however, they're too puny to do anything about it. It's a little sad sometimes.
The cockatrice is a version of the basalisk. Both are fictional creatures, and both are said to be capable of turning anything that catches their eye to stone. The cockatrice is fabled to have the body of a chicken and the tail of a serpent, and the birth of one involves a long list of impossible factors such as the hatching of a cockerel's egg that I'm not going to list here.
So, combine the feared monster of ancient myths with a six-inch bundle of angry frustration, and you have Ruby.
Ruby will be a character in a more recent novel that I've started. He's owned by a witch named Myrtle, and is her official guard, greeter, and errand-runner. He's highly territorial, but is only capable of paralyzing victims who meet his eye for a day or so. As usual, I managed to cut off his toes when I was drawing him and the tips of his wing when I was scanning him, and had I moved him just a little up and to the side I would have had him centered perfectly.
Keep an eye out for him in the future, and as always, enjoy the next chapter of Centaur Ranch.

The Book Revealed

All right! The secret's out. I figured out the name of the As Yet Unnamed Story a few weeks ago, but I couldn't post it for fear of spoiling this:  


 Without warning, the door suddenly flew open seemingly of its own accord and smashed into Avon’s nose with a resounding ‘crack!’, sending him toppling over backwards to sprawl in an undignified heap on the floor. Diddle jumped to one side in surprise as an arm with nut-brown skin followed the door, followed closely by a shining black hoof that lashed out at Avon in a vicious kick, barely missing the man and hitting the ground right between his legs.

Avon squeaked in terror and shuffled backwards on the ground, still clutching his nose between his fingers and his eyes wide with terror.

            “Get back inside, monster!” she shrieked in a high voice, stumbling to his feet. When he released his hands from his nose to haul himself upright, Diddle saw that the force of the door hitting his nose had given him a nosebleed, which dripped onto his clean white shirt and left bright red stains in the flawless linen.  It seemed like a bad time to laugh, so Diddle bit his tongue and instead stepped over to Avon’s side so he could see the animal inside the stall. What he saw left him both shocked and horrified at the same time.

            A centaur.

            She was huge, towering at least three feet above Diddle’s head and a good foot and a half over Avon’s. Her horse half was big, sleek, and heavily muscled, and her black coat and tail were glossy and well-kept; matching the midnight-black hair bound up in a ponytail atop her head. She wore only a faded blue sleeveless shirt that covered her human torso, and a small pendant necklace bound by a woven hemp cord around her neck. Her arms were long, and as strong-looking as her horse legs, with powerful hands that she kept crossed across her chest as she glared at Avon. Her human face matched the rest of her—nut-brown skin, a powerful jawline, and dark, black eyes that stared with such fierce intensity at the two human intruders that Diddle couldn’t help but shrink back a little.

She was intimidating, and not just because of her size. She had the unmistakable air of someone with a temper, and who would be quite willing to punch someone’s face inside-out if they gave her half a chance. Diddle realized that she could have easily stamped one of her sharp, black hooves right through Avon’s chest if she’d chosen to, but something had stopped her, and she instead settled for creating a deep depression in the hard-packed earth where the terrific force of her foreleg had slammed into the ground. Avon seemed to realize how close he’d just come to death as well, as he was shaking all over even as he raised his voice in an attempt to override the centaur woman’s quiet air of power and strength.

Centaur Ranch. 

 Centaurs have always been my favorite mythical creatures. Maybe it's leftover from when I was a typical eight-year-old who wanted nothing more than a pony, but nevertheless, the case is so. Figuring out what they can do is interesting; for example, how do they sleep? Do they move their arms when they run? Does having two stomachs mean they can eat grass? Their personalities are fun to develop, too. Be sure to stick around for the next chapter, and the past five chapters are up in case you missed anything.  

All right, I'll admit it--keeping up with the blog has been getting harder of late. Cross Country and marching band started in August, so now my day is split between running my legs off, marching my legs off, or working.

I do, however, have some actual news to report.
For anyone in the River Falls (WI) area, there is an upcoming art fair, called Art On the Kinni:

It takes place on September 8th (A ways ahead, but it's good to plan), and it's a one-day show for anyone who likes art and enjoys wandering through parks. If you've got a free weekend, feel free to come by and browse through the fair. After all, that's half the fun.

The new chapter in the As Yet Unnamed Story is up, and I apologize for anyone who hasn't read the first chapter, but I am going to  have to start taking off the earlier chapters as I post because the file is getting to be too big.

Happy Summer!

Death wandered the aisles of Macy's, searching for a new cloak. He picked up a pair of neon blue skinny jeans with one skeletal hand, turning them over distastefully.
"I hate modern fashion," he grumbled to himself. "Give me the old days when a man wore a tunic and a pair of tights."
He thought for a moment.
"Well...maybe not the tights," he amended.

If, for whatever reason, this makes sense to you, hit share.

The Red Box

I've been a bad blogger of late, but I've been trying to finish up a project I've been thinking about doing for years, finally started a month ago, and put off until this weekend. But at last, I may present to you...the Red Box!

This project started out as a plain white box with chipping paint that sat in the corner of my room underneath a fish tank. The fish tank tended to slosh a lot, which was hard on the poor box, and when I finally got rid of the fish tank, the box was a real eye sore.
I cleaned out the box and sanded down the worst of the chipping paint, and then gave it a layer of primer. When that was done, I found some leftover enamel paint--which happened to be red--and used that to give it some color. I made the mistake of getting some of said enamel paint on my hands, and so I ended up walking around with red fingernails, looking like I'd recently murdered someone. It's gone now, thank god.
I could have left the box like that (I painted the hinges and handles black), but the main reason I got the box in the first place was to paint it and make it interesting. And so began the decorating process.
Enamel, I've found, makes a great surface to doodle with pencil, and I was able to draw out the plans for my design. Since acrylic was all I really had (And I didn't want to mess around with enamel anymore), I used that to paint the design. I was pleased with the result, which actually looks like a tree.

If you've been following the As Yet Unnamed Story, the next chapter's up, and as always, feel free to leave comments below.