Ink Splatters ~ Marthaniel

1 ~ Scrunched Papers

Marc ripped another page out of his book. Ideas were floating just in reach, but when pen came to paper, nothing was written down other than a soft line of ink, walking itself lazily down the page before the pen holder noticed and ripped out another page.

He knew what he wanted to write about. But where to start? The visual image of the characters bursted out at him, the plot for the story already in hand. But how do you start a book?

The simplest way, he thought, was to start it straight into the action. If this book was to be an action drama, then start it off surprising and eye catching. Keep the reader reading.

But as soon as he'd start the sentence, he couldn't end it. It frustrated him.

He couldn't write short or long stories. Heck, he didn't believe he was a good writer at all, but it was a passion and he pursued it, he just couldn't show it to anyone. No way. He'd have to move far away, change his name, hair and eye color and start anew.

Short stories were easier to start, he felt. He didn't have to pull the story in and explain in full depth to the reader about the setting and character appearance. Little flashbacks were slightly necessary but a back story was not. Although every character he created had a back story, it was subtly played off throughout the story.

Yet short stories were hard to limit down, because he would get so caught up in the story, bringing the characters further from the story and closer to home. Characters he fell in love with and couldn't give them away with some sloppy ending written in 5 minutes because the story was stretching. They needed more, and thus would bring the story to a long text.

And then, he would read over it, and find that the story looked only half written. If anyone were to read it they'd ask where the beginning half was. Where about the story was placed in further depth, bigger back stories, character development, character descriptions, place in chapters! The list would go on until it was singled out as some 3rd grade write-for-fun narrative.

So then long stories, in whole, made further sense to him. In these He was able to introduce characters early and let the reader learn about them before the story starts. But he could never start the stories right. And the few that he had managed to start never had a full ending, sitting between chapter 14 and 15 awaiting the plot twist and the stories low point, before banding together for the magnificent ending.

The thing he seemed good at, were writing scripts for comics or plays. In their own respects they were able to start off in the beginning of action and spread as long as they please, without looking like a scrappy 3rd grade essay.

But in all his comic scripts, they needed an artist, a drawing of some type to pull the story along.

But draw, he could not. Lest the comics be filled with 4 year old pictures: people with circle heads, two dot eyes, small smiley faces, and hair as two wavy lines; a sun with rays as big as the people; stick figures with circle hands and ridiculously long fingers; a sky as one blue line; green grass bellow represented as a zig-zagging line; the house smaller than the people standing beside it; and a flower and tree, tucked off somewhere in the corner, funnily the same size.

He'd show his writing to the world before allowing anyone to see his drawing skills.

Sometimes it helped to just throw word vomit onto the page, then cross out what didn't work and start from there.

None the less, today was not his day. Writers block was at its worst and inspiration spiraled to zip.

He sighed, scrapping another paper beside him before groaning and placing his head on the desk.

Nathaniel couldn't think of anything to draw. His usual inspiration bounced off other people.

He could draw magnificent portraits and scenery, and his style danced between realism and cartoonist. Yet when it came to drawing an idea from his head, his mind went blank.

He could even completely change someone's style, as long as he had a base. For example, he could turn himself into a superhero, or the teacher into a villain. Maybe even turn Chloe into a my little pony character if he so wanted to.

OC's were his life long nightmare. Unless he had a thorough description on the character, his mind was as blank as the paper that lay in front of him.

The drawings he'd shown the leader of the art department were advised to go further. The art teacher couldn't find a flaw, yet told him they'd look great in a comic series.

And every time he sat back down, pencil in hand, ready to draw the non-existent idea.

He'd drawn out all the comic boxes, yet without a script, it looked like a collage than a book.

Sighing, he let his pencil clatter to the table, making sure the distance between dropping point and table were not too far to break the lead.

He scrunched his face in anger, before placing his head on his desk.

Marinette looked over at the boy who's pencil loudly clattered to the desk in the silent classroom. She could tell he was frustrated about something, and made a mental note to help him out later in the art rooms, where he spent most of his time.

When the bell rang she told her boyfriend where she was going as to not to wait for her. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, replying that he had fencing and would be at the school late too.

Marinette gathered her things and made her way to the art rooms. Regardless of Nate's situation, she was planning on finishing up her designs, and she was low on materials, which is why she used the art supplies.

After she found her usual seat in the studio, taking out a few sewing kits before jumping up to talk to Nathaniel.

"How's it going?" Marinette asked, trying to spark up conversation.

Nathaniel sighed. "Nothing. I can't find any inspiration. I'm only good at drawing 'le aventures de mightyllistrator' But they require a comic book, which is something I cannot do."

Marinette pondered for a moment, finding a way to fix the problem. Her eyes lightened up as she gasped. "I know just how to help!"