NEW updated prompts this week! New bits for each bauble means new word prompts! Check the new ideas out below:
“You think you should be heading this mission?”
“Goddamn right I do. Do you have any idea…”
“I do, actually. Just in case you’re having a senior moment, I’ll remind you of some of your record’s highlights: misfired bomb in a civilian city, entire squadron still MIA five years later, and two diplomats killed under your watch.”
His face squished up, turning red slightly as he ground his teeth.
“Now, how about we get through this mission alive? And, then, you can complain about my age.”
She unnerved him; he could feel her eyes boring into his soul, examining him, judging him, even if her expression softened. He watched her relax, a small smile dancing on her lips. To her, he was beautiful, his soul alight with a unique fire.
“You done messed up.”
“Like real messed up. Like grounded until you’re forty.”
He laughed as the picture snapped, and Sean couldn’t help smiling with him. “Dude, I never felt so pretty. Imma wear flowers everyday now.”
“How do we know this is the right house?”
“I saw them go in.”
“I don’t know, looks too nice.”
“Too nice for what?”
“Their ugly faces.”
“You’re not a princess, you’re a bitch, and there’s a major difference.”
Sofia looked up from her mirror, with a soft condescending smile: “No one ever said a princess couldn’t be a bitch, honey.”
“Why do you wear a mask? It scares people.”
“They deserve to be scared.”
Sweet nothings in her ear and the smell of coffee as he kissed her cheek. He was warmth and she wanted to bask in his light forever.
Stay tuned for more!
An excerpt from the full review:
Older women are a rare protagonist, and not just in animation; strong and capable grandmothers even more so. But Triplets of Belleville is its own kind of rare film. Following Madame Souza’s quest to find her grandson Champion, a bicyclist kidnapped by the French Mafia, Sylvain Chomet’s debut feature film has quiet simplicity that may seem unusual to most American audiences.
Beginning with a black-and-white television program featuring the Triplets of Belleville and several caricatured but real-life stars of the time, we meet Madame Souza and her young grandson Champion. After the unspecified death of his parents, young Champion lives with Madame Souza, who tries to find the quiet young boy’s interests, eventually even getting him a dog, Bruno, but to no avail. That is, until she finds a scrapbook all about bicycling; the young boy gets a tricycle and the grown man has a bicycling regime leading him to the Tour du France. Oui oui! But the French Mafia lie in wait. Sacre bleu! Champion and two other cyclists are kidnapped from the race, and Madame Souza does her best to follow their trail – to the bustling metropolis of Belleville…
Read more on Rotoscopers.com!
A blurb about the new series I’m directing for Rotoscopers.com:
Studios like Disney and DreamWorks get a lot of attention (and deservedly so, for the most part), but there is a whole world of animation outside of the main American studio system. With this series, we aim to introduce dozens of wonderful films that easily deserve a place next to classics like The Lion King or Toy Story.
Starting this Friday, we’ll be featuring a different independent animated film every weekend. Tune in and watch with us as we review and discuss independent animation, from Akira to Balto to 9 and even to the Barbie movies…
Read more on Rotoscopers.com!
Longtime MSM Pinterest followers will know that not all the prompts on Bits & Baubles or Bits and Baubles, Part 2, have a written blurb with them – not yet, anyway. I’m working through every one of the over 800 blurbs and regularly updating some with their own written blurbs.
Here are the most recent updates:
She stepped past the curtains, leaving her purse and coat backstage, and discovering an ingrained world on the old stage. When she looked back, there was nothing, nothing but more of the world she stepped into.
He contorted any and each way he could, the rock face scraping unforgivingly against his back and chest. He was cold, he was hungry, but he was determined not to get stuck.
“Maybe it’s because I’m so sweet.” Their soft wings fluttered over her face and gentle hand.
“Do lots of people say you’re sweet?”
She shook her head: “I just know I am.”
He didn’t trust the words. Too many people repeated them and believed them; his gut told him something was wrong. He would repeat them, but only while he tried to find out what they really meant.
She leaned out the door, checking that the coast was clear before stepping out at all. It was a risk, she knew, but she couldn’t go through with what her advisors wanted until she’d spoken to… The leaves crunches under her feet, her ears hypersensitive to the noise, and her heart pounding out of her chest as she hurried further away.
I wanted to scream and throw things and run out of the room. But I laughed instead. I couldn’t help it. Suddenly I could breathe enough to laugh, even though I was shaking, shaking with fear that it wasn’t true. He was dead. I was free. Could it really be?
“We know our fight.”
“All you’ve done is go out and kill people; that’s not our fight, that’s murder.”
She stepped tentatively into the water, its deep blue rippling around her ankles. Her skin shimmered as the water settled again. She thought to swim, but at that moment she dared not shatter the peace.
“I think you’re an ass.”
“Never mind, he’s fine.”
“Wow. So mature. And here I am trying to help you.”
“Yeah? Well, you can shove your help right up your…”
“Alright, alright, I’m going.”
Stay tuned for more at the My Storytelling Mind Pinterest!
“Through my kaleidoscope I can see next-door neighbors in next-door worlds and pretend they can see me, too. The next-door neighbors live like us and talk like us and feel like us, but they don’t act like us or look like us or think like us. If a grown-up saw my next-door neighbors in their next-door world, instead of a handshake held out, there’d be a nickname called out.”
“You can’t fan the heat of problems; they boil and bubble and burn. The only way to stop the pot from boiling over is to take away the fire.”
“When the stars have sparkled their last and the dance has come to its final note, will you love me enough to remind me what I’ve lost?”
“The mermaids murmur, the fairies flutter, the trees tell the tale of the princess who rides the Sun-laid path. She takes her rest upon the river bank, with naiad maids, and takes the Sun’s embrace. For when the Sun reminds you of dandelions and the rays leave stars in your eyes, is it not better to swim and be enveloped in the warmth than to walk upon it and forget the feeling beneath your toes?”