The Rules
So I've been getting a fair number of new watchers lately (totally cool, it makes me feel all special and crap), but I thought I'd make a post to lie down the rules of my Sketch Journal.
There's onlly one rule. That rule is:
Please don't lift ideas. I've been working on Skin Deep for about six years straight now (longer if you go by how long I've had a few of the characters), and if I discover tomorrow that there's a new comic book coming out about a hidden culture of mythical creatures who hide from humanity using magic jewels created by a long-believed-extinct race and also there's a lot of music references, a Green Day tribute band consisting of angsty icthyocentaurs, and a Lammasu, a faun, a water nymph, and a catbird with long blue hair as the main characters, well I'd just go to my room and cry because hey, six years of my life right down the toilet.
I'm putting a lot on the line by having this journal, but I don't want to crawl into a little ball of secrecy about the project because it really does benefit when I get feedback from other. But I'm a One Trick Pony, guys. This is my only story. I wouldn't know where to start if I wanted to start a story from scratch. If I find out that someone has taken my ideas and profited off of them, well basically I'll be very sad.
Is that dramatic enough? No? Here, let me make it a little more wangsty. If Skin Deep is stolen from me, ripped out of my being like a heart from a chest, then a large chunk of my very soul will die. I will become a souless nothing, weeping and complaining for the rest of my life. My boyfriend will leave me because who wants to date a souless shell of a human being? I will never fulfill my dream of working from home and being the world's coolest mother. I will die alone and friendless with only my 18 cats to mourn my passing. And they won't, 'cause they're cats. My tombstone will read Here Lies Kory Bingaman: She complained a lot and everybody hated her. She never had any good ideas.
Don't let that happen, guys. I don't want to die alone, homeless in the street with only the warmth of a burning oil barrel and a coat I stole off a dead hobo to keep me warm.
There's onlly one rule. That rule is:
Please don't lift ideas. I've been working on Skin Deep for about six years straight now (longer if you go by how long I've had a few of the characters), and if I discover tomorrow that there's a new comic book coming out about a hidden culture of mythical creatures who hide from humanity using magic jewels created by a long-believed-extinct race and also there's a lot of music references, a Green Day tribute band consisting of angsty icthyocentaurs, and a Lammasu, a faun, a water nymph, and a catbird with long blue hair as the main characters, well I'd just go to my room and cry because hey, six years of my life right down the toilet.
I'm putting a lot on the line by having this journal, but I don't want to crawl into a little ball of secrecy about the project because it really does benefit when I get feedback from other. But I'm a One Trick Pony, guys. This is my only story. I wouldn't know where to start if I wanted to start a story from scratch. If I find out that someone has taken my ideas and profited off of them, well basically I'll be very sad.
Is that dramatic enough? No? Here, let me make it a little more wangsty. If Skin Deep is stolen from me, ripped out of my being like a heart from a chest, then a large chunk of my very soul will die. I will become a souless nothing, weeping and complaining for the rest of my life. My boyfriend will leave me because who wants to date a souless shell of a human being? I will never fulfill my dream of working from home and being the world's coolest mother. I will die alone and friendless with only my 18 cats to mourn my passing. And they won't, 'cause they're cats. My tombstone will read Here Lies Kory Bingaman: She complained a lot and everybody hated her. She never had any good ideas.
Don't let that happen, guys. I don't want to die alone, homeless in the street with only the warmth of a burning oil barrel and a coat I stole off a dead hobo to keep me warm.