I’m not sure what in the world I’ll write here. Thoughts, a short story, a poem, or maybe nothing. I don’t know. I won’t think about it, I’ll just do it. But later. All I know is that it won’t be safe for anything done publicly.
Unless that public activity is extremely lewd. Then it’s safe to read this while doing that.
[Later:]
As is so often the case with giant encounters, our little fellow cannot see his keeper’s face, and neither can we. We all must read her mood through her hand, which is quite expressive if one is practiced in reading it. There is possession, of course, but otherwise he has the freedom to perform.
This is sultry, Squid. I can hear the waves crashing into him. Her prominent ribcage makes me think she is inhaling deeply, and if I were him I’d be encouraged by it.
I don’t know how important this is to your process, but when you post an illustration and then add the text/story later, I only get notified of the initial post. Consequently, I will only see the update if I happen to revisit the post of my own accord. I imagine other readers might be in the same position.
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Freedom to perform is infinite freedom. Thank you, Olo. There’s only encouragement, as I imagine it.
It’s a bad habit of mine to post the image before I write the post. I’ve decided a number of times to do otherwise, and sometimes succeed. I have little patience (for anything), so when I’m finished with a drawing in the evening, the time it would take me to write the accompanying post feels like forever.
I’ve always thought it’s better to post both things together, but haven’t enforced the improvement. Maybe I should, not only for my own benefit, discipline, consistency, etc., but for my readers too. That, or I should stop claiming there are future words involved in the process. Hm.
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“I’m too small” “Every day, and every night, yes. Constantly.”
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Those are words I speak from the heart. They are true.
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I know they are, there is no greater truth.
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There’s a greater truth, but it doesn’t belong in a comment section. Maybe I’ll write about it some day.
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Now that is the ultimate hug. Intimate, uncompromising, demanding, powerful and overwhelming. And as an added bonus I somehow managed to pop into the story as you were still working on it. That was a treat… ^^
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Forsooth, mightn’t I lucubrate in quiet reflection without the preening potherings of such a borrower? Thou art a fragment! I bite my thumb! : D
(I do know my writing can be observed as it happens once I publish the doc. Google has the sense to keep it to itself on my iPhone—there’s no SOMEONE IS WATCHING YOU WRITE siren.)
Thank you, Scott! That’s an excellent way to describe it, as a hug.
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I, too, have seen the Squid at work, like a fleeting shadow captured by a Japanese mini-sub.
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Scandal!
The idea is kinda fun. I’d enjoy watching Size writers work at Picarto, and have thought to write there sometimes, as soon as I figure out how to stop broadcasting sound.
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You dote so lovingly but oh so commandingly. This is the dream, someone who knows exactly what they want finding someone who is perfectly positioned to give it to them.
Since time immemorial, laborers have sung to themselves, both to coordinate their teamwork and to strengthen their fellowship. Our little performer is a team of one, but he still needs a steady rhythm and a song of pride. Like the ancient mariner, he should sing to himself. A C-shanty.
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A C-shanty. : D Please tell no one, but one of the ways I think of my characters extracting entertainment from their small possessions is through song. A tiny person singing to charm the heart of their owner is an idea that just… gets to me.
Thank you, Olo. I’m this close to achieving my dream! All I need now is a smidge of shrinking formula.
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“One must imagine Shrinkyphus happy.”
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In the end, I always do, even as aware as I am that others might label his new life as absurd. Unless they are me, they can’t see it any other way.
But I’m me, so he’s happy.
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Oh, my gods, that drawing. That beautiful landscape, that hilly expanse. And you did this, not some horny young man with wild appetites: you drew this beautiful, luxurious woman stretching into the distance, you beautiful unicorn, you exquisite squid. You really are a treasure.
I love how he’s trapped in that big, meaty hand. Stupidly shoving a thumb aside, as if that’ll do any good. Enrobed in tender fingers, caging him where he’s needed most, where his struggles will be most delicious. Absolutely perfect, you do this so well.
‘”You’re too big,” you’ll say. I’ll show you I’m the perfect size.’ There’s always one perfect line in each of these, at least one perfect line. This is the one that hooks me and pulls me in, makes me want to cheer on the rooftop.
A true giantess! A real giantess story! The stupidity of humanity is never more evident in how they aren’t falling over themselves to get at this story. Idiots.
I love the inexorability of the scene executing itself. Her command, his unflagging duty, and all the enticing details. The relentless command, minutes earlier, days earlier, over and over. This is all she wants, and I’m genuinely happy she’s getting it.
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