me myself and I

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Magic and Loss: Or Elfhood, Revisited

Published December 8, 2017 by admin

I did this post a few years ago, trying to explain my feelings on December. They’re many and complicated and sometimes contradictory, but I’m still really proud of this post, and long though it is, figured it deserves a second look. It gives a decent-ish summation of my world view, so there’s that. Plus, you get photographic evidence of me as an elf. You’re welcome.

***

I’ve mentioned it off and on, but December is not the easiest month in the world for me. While I like the seasonal aesthetic, it seems like if anything awful, life-changing, or downright weird is going to happen, it’s likely to happen in December. Seriously, we’re talking medical-mystery grade illness with wacky false diagnoses, weather that had me hiking out of ditches and almost having to hold the door of my car closed during a snowstorm, breakups, monumental fights, family deaths, friend deaths, pet deaths, near muggings, and that time I was accidentally set on fire at Christmas Eve service. Apparently I live an active life.

It’s also traditionally been the time I’ve pulled down a lot of holiday gigs, because, eh, just because the season can be hard emotionally doesn’t mean I’m not showing up and doing what needs to be done. Obviously, sometimes the two collide in ways I could never anticipate.

Read the Rest Here

 

 

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Open Doors: #HoldOnToTheLight

Published October 5, 2017 by admin

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Sometimes I have bits of stories that come out of nowhere, and I’m not quite sure what to do with them. Usually it’s a premise, sometimes an ending punchline, other times it’s a character or just a snippet of a setting or time period. Sometimes I’ll get a few paragraphs that don’t have anything to do with anything, so I write it down, file it away, and go on with life. It’s much more stream of conscious than how I usually work, but I’ve learned to go with it in those moments.

A piece of dialogue has followed me around for years, and I could never figure out where it fit. I thought I knew which idea it went with, but then I’d start to doubt, or things would shift, or not quite match up. It’s something, more or less, to the effect of:

“You can wait and hope, scream and beg til your voice gives out, but at the end of the day, sometimes no one’s coming to rescue you. Maybe they don’t hear. Maybe they ignore you. That’s just the way it is. Being rescued, happily ever after – that’s a little girl’s dream, not reality. So you can give up, or go through it, fight through it, and hope to God you come out on the other side and be better. And some days I’m not sure if I have.”

They’re words that resonate with me personally, and they could fit with a few things I’m developing, so it’s not a question of them not getting used, but who they belong to. Recently, working on a pitch involving the expansion of some reprints, I suddenly discovered who it belongs to, or I’m at least 95% sure. And it shook me to my core, because I never would have guessed it would have been that character. I full well know that I’m putting her through some things, but I also hadn’t quite expected that to come out of her. And it makes me a little sad that I didn’t catch that about her before now, because in her earlier appearances, she’s strong and capable, and obnoxiously flippant to a certain extent. Looks can be deceiving, in fiction as well as real life.

Now, more than ever, it’s extremely easy to lock yourself in your own world, insulate yourself in your friends groups, secure your walls and lock things down for your own sanity. Sometimes you have to, and there’s no shame in that. Sometimes, though, it’s worth leaving a little crack for the light to get in, as Leonard Cohen would say.

As Clarissa Pinkola Estes would say in her poem Abre La Puerta, a wound is a door. Sometimes we have to remind ourselves to go looking for them, as well as leave them open. And it’s terrifying to do either, especially when you’ve been hurt, yourself.

I worry these days that in our world of cultivated social media and algorithms, it’s all too easy to put out a blanket “hey I’m here for you!” and feel like that does the job, especially when it gets likes or retweets or whatever. Yes, sometimes that’s important – you never know who’s scrolling by and may see it. But is that seriously enough, or is that emotional marketing that makes the poster and their friend group feel good, but not much beyond that? I don’t know. Admittedly I have a thing about pretty words with no real attempt to back them up, where the person offering pretty words and platitudes is somehow the only one gaining anything from them.

Besides, what about the people who aren’t in your direct circle that you don’t always talk to? What about the person standing next to you on a corner or that acquaintence at work or that you pass by every now and then at the store that doesn’t see those posts? Sure, there are a ton of resources out there, but what about those people that are in a place where they can’t comprehend that it’s there for them, that they’re worth those resources and time, too? You just never know. The person next to you could disappear at any time, that is a definite reality. And I get it’s a little idealistic to think that someone can be saved with a smile or an enquirey or a kind gesture, especially if they need real, in-depth help.

Couldn’t hurt, though.

I’m not saying overextend yourself or put yourself in danger or put huge mental pressure or stress on yourself. Be mindful, because you just never know what people are going through. Now, more than ever, I will continue to try to advocate empathy, because it’s something we all need to feel human and to be better humans. It’s a private thought of mine that one of the blanket meanings of life, one of the only reasons for bad things happening (privately or publicly, small or mass scale) that I can come up with, is to cultivate empathy. That may not be the case, but it’s the only thing that makes sense to me in the scheme of things.

We’re conditioned to be incredibly guarded in this modern world. To be tough, to keep rolling with the punches, to suck it up, buttercup, to deal, that other people have it worse. It’s incredibly hard to be vulnerable in this day and age, even a little. If things aren’t on the catastrophic scale, especially now, how can one complain?

It doesn’t make some things any easier.

Admittedly, I can be an extremely guarded person. There are reasons for this, and it’s my choice who to share those reasons with. No matter the case, I joke sometimes about hiding out in my tower, or the Great Wall of Selah, or just pushing my personal feelings aside until I get through a situation and deal with it later. Through the years I’ve had many lessons fall in my lap (though they didn’t feel like it at the time), as to why those are not great ways to live your life. It also goes to show that we can’t just talk about the reason for people being the way they are, whether it’s trauma, addiction, diagnosis, whatever. There’s also the carrying on, the journeying from that point, the recovery, the coping. We love a hero story and a redemption arc, but we tend to forget how hard it probably is for the person in question to get from point A to point B, even in the most tell-all of memoirs. And sometimes it’s the moving on that brings whole other painful moments that you just don’t see coming.

Some of my hardest personal times were feeling like a failure and going through the day to day, still having to show up, feeling like people were brushing things off or that I couldn’t open up to them. I still on occasion get flustered or anxious during conversation and feel like the biggest idiot in the world, because there are days it still feels like I’m rebounding and relearning how to connect with people and trust them with actual conversation and not be “on.”

One of the hardest things to experience is talking to someone you love dearly, step off the cliff and open up, and the door in their eyes slamming shut and locking tight because you’re saying things they may not want to hear. There’s the being brushed off because people around me figured I’d eventually just over things like I always do, as long as I’m keeping up with whatever’s on my plate. In reality, I’d push them off to deal with them later, until I couldn’t, then not know what to do and felt completely at a loss. Some of the hardest days I had years ago were when I couldn’t find the words to express what I thought might be going on at the time and show up every day and play pretend with my life anyway until things resolved themselves. I’ve bided my time to hang out with and open up to people, anxiety about stuff be damned, and find out they’ve changed their mind and gone off and left me because there were other things going on and other people needed them, and what could they really do? I’ve spent evenings with people wondering if I could talk to them, let it go, then found out years later if they wondered if I was doing okay.

I’ve felt that horrific feeling of being alone in a room of people and wondering if it even mattered I was there.

So yeah, I know how hard it is, and I know the inner workings of my tower, my fort, my wall very well.

If you’ve ever had a nightmare of running through a hall with something after you and every door of escape, of help being locked tight, leaving you nowhere to go, you’ll know the general feeling.

And realitistically, especially as I’ve gotten older, I do get it. Sometimes things happen, and I doubt all those incidents were meant personally. I’ve resolved a few of them with the people involved, forgiven and moved on. Besides, life gets in the way, it’s easy to judge, to choose self-preservation, especially now.

And yet..I also wonder during all those times, who was I walking by? Who was I passing up that could have used a smile or a conversation or some recognition that yes, you are human, I see you, I’ve got you, hang in there.

Because as hard as it was to write the above, I’ve also had some amazing people in my life and beautiful, wonderful little moments that have kept me going.

I’ve had people that started out on my periphery make a choice to come ask how I was in my day to day, and if I was too cynical they took me aside and gently called me out on it.

I’ve had people text me out of the blue with things they’ve kept that I’ve made for them, or things that we’d laughed about years ago, or just to say that they thought of me.

I’ve had people send me cat pictures, or ridiculous gifs, or ask me how a project is going, even if it’s stalling out. And then genuinely bug me to hear about it. Sometimes I get random cards in the mail, and I try to reciprocate those, because they’re fantastic to come home to. I’ve had friends share moments of their kids living up to my bad influence, and just all sorts of silly, fun things that end up mattering. As someone who feels like I’m always the first person reaching out, the one reminding people I’m alive, the one putting out the effort, those who know to keep after me have been godsends at proving that there are amazing people out there and that I’m someone worth looking after.

I’ve had people that I never thought in a million years would remember I existed remember me after not seeing them for a few years, and get genuinely excited about things I’m working on – so much so that I can’t even begin to put a clarifying or cynical spin on it.

I’ve had a close friend on his deathbed ask how I was doing and make me promise to keep creating things and be happy. I still wear the necklace he gave me as a reminder of how much my ideas can influence things at cons and other times when I’m feeling nervous.

I’ve had people call me on the pretense of checking up on a project but really check to make sure things are going okay.

I’ve had library friends, who I never see anywhere else, who would talk about anything and nothing for handfuls of minutes just because.

I’ve had friends and acquaintences who would bring up things like meditation and yoga and transcendentalism, and then pivot the conversation to Prince, and cats, and who knows what else – and it always gives me a laugh and brings me back to present.

I’ve had friends text me just because, and those tint moments have made my day.

I’ve had friends just encourage the dumbest, insane ideas and keep the conversation going until I’m sitting there laughing with tears streaming down my face and it doesn’t even matter if the thing we’ve talked about ever happens, it just feels amazing to be silly and riff like that.

I never realized how much little gestures meant until I went out to dinner with some friends I hadn’t seen in years, and in coordinating the details I began to feel the ol’ virgo detail anxiety creeping up, until I was easily told ‘Hey, no worries, you don’t have to worry about that here. We got ya.’ The fact that I could spend an evening not having to figure everything out was like a vacation.

I’ve had people remind me to come to them with questions, for advice, for venting, because (strangely enough) we’re all in this life thing together and I don’t have to do it all alone (contrary to what past moments and anxieties say, because those definitely lie).

I still have friends willing to come with me to conventions or events I do, just so I’m not driving myself bonkers with preparation. They’re right there pointing out the fun, quirky moments (or instigate them when my back is turned if a giant troll costume is involved), making sure I don’t run myself into the ground.

I’ve had people keep after me and be willing to call me out when I needed it. People who drag me outside, or remind me to put on music, all sorts of little things that are so much better than a general “hey, glad you’re still here!” posted on social media…because I definitely know I’m a part of their life. I know they know that I exist.

And I honestly think at the end of the day that’s what we’re all really after. People to know and remember we’re here.

And it’s not just the direct benefits that I’m talking about in these instances. These incredible, awesome people have taught me how to take a breath, notice those around me, and in turn pass it on. These are the things that make a day better, but in my darkest moments through the years and my not dark but plain tired moments now, they remind me how good people can be and are. If anything has kept me around and encouraged me to tentatively step foot out of the tower and reach out to others, it’s the private gestures from kind people. They’ve turned me into a much better human.

I’m grateful – both for all these wonderful little moments, and the things that brought me to them, because you wouldn’t have one without the other. They’re all teachers in their way, all things to think on. True, you lose a little protection when you open space in your wall or whatever, but you can’t reach out to others until you let some light in.

In my own way, I’m probably a little too prone to emotional vomiting on people, but I want people to know that they matter. I have no shame in thanking people who influence me, or who have put up with me through the years, or randomly texting people to say I’m thinking of them. It may be a little awkward, but it’s become part of who I am. I try to notice people around me most days and it probably creeps some out. Deep down I know that little gestures probably aren’t the be all and end all. But still. If you don’t keep your door open, you can’t reach out through it to others, and they also can’t get through to see you. Besides, there’s the old tradition in fairy tales – you never ignore the stranger or weirdo when you’re lost in the woods or at your wits’ end. How you treat them determines how you’re treated, and that figure is usually the one who teaches the best lessons and distributes the most influential gifts. If you’re closed off and hidden away in all but words only you don’t get them, and you also close off any opportunity to help someone else, in return.

Life can be dark, but it’s also dotted with stars. You have to open the door to see them, though, and sometimes you have to dare to peer through, to reach through other doors to see things further.

About the campaign:
#HoldOnToTheLight is a blog campaign encompassing blog posts by fantasy and science fiction authors around the world in an effort to raise awareness around treatment for depression, suicide prevention, domestic violence intervention, PTSD initiatives, bullying prevention and other mental health-related issues. We believe fandom should be supportive, welcoming and inclusive, in the long tradition of fandom taking care of its own. We encourage readers and fans to seek the help they or their loved ones need without shame or embarrassment.
Please consider donating to or volunteering for organizations dedicated to treatment and prevention such as: American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Hope for the Warriors (PTSD), National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), Canadian Mental Health Association, MIND (UK), SANE (UK), BeyondBlue (Australia), To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA) and the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.
To find out more about #HoldOnToTheLight, find a list of participating authors and blog posts, or reach a media contact, go to http://www.HoldOnToTheLight.com and join us on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/WeHoldOnToTheLight

 

 

On What Ifs and Horror Writing

Published October 4, 2017 by admin

Oh, October. I love you. Somehow, even when I was a scaredy cat growing up, I still wanted to live in a haunted house and played pretend that I was some sort of ghoul/ghost princess in a graveyard or ran around wanting to be a ghostbuster getting sucked into an alternate dimension…you know, normal kids stuff.

It probably had to do with the sheer amount of different things I was around to as a kid, so I can actually totally, completely, mostly blame my parents, family, friends, and the 1980s on me turning out this way. It’s a relief, let me tell you.

I think I’ve always been in awe of the what if in horror. Obviously, this is a thing in other genres, but it’s especially powerful when coupled with the fear, pessimism, anxiety, or whatever outlook you’re shaping it with in horror. What if there’s someone calling from inside the house? What if vampires are real? What if one typical day turns into your worst nightmare?

There’s something empowering about exploring it, as well as something chilling about reading it. In some ways I think I like writing horror for a sense of control, in others I think I like it because there’s still this weird viewpoint that as a gal I’m somehow not supposed to think like this or whatever (obviously those with that pov haven’t hung out with a ton of women, just sayin’).

A lot of my short horror has started from the what if concept: What if all your inanimate objects were conscious and secretly hated you? What if vampires existed in the untamed woods in the 1800s? What if on one of the happiest nights of the year, the world was ending? What if this little incident that you think is so mundane is far from innocent?

I kind of blame this on the ’80s, too. Growing up in the time of stranger danger, just say no, razorbladed halloween candy, people trying to get you in a van, combined with just how bizarre Saturday morning television was, well, I mean we really didn’t have a chance. Something was always on our minds, even on the playground. Seriously, don’t kid yourself. Kids are way savvier than you think, they pick up on stuff, but they also misstranslate it and get it all turned around. To this day I still remember odd convos in the cafeteria about like what a friend of mine thought communism was and how we’d all die at any minute, along with urban-legend type stuff, like a spot on the ceiling of a dining room that grew as a family ate and took them straight to hell.

I think I was seven or eight for those, by the way, so yeah, talk to your children, because they’re probably walking around with some amazing irrational fears.

Combine THAT with things on the news like the Challenger, the economy fluctuating, and THAT with episodes of Punky Brewster showing the kids getting eaten by a demon and Care Bears going borderline possession in a Dark Heart storyline, Ponyland getting eaten by ooze, and characters getting their souls sucked out every other week, Freddy Krueger might come get you, spiders could take over a whole town, and who knows what else – and put all of that in a blender…in a world full of what if’s, Halloween felt like a relief, a constant: you always cut jack-o-lanterns, you always dress up, you always go out and come home with candy. Heck, you alwsays come home, as long as you’re careful and wear reflectors and obey the rules. These days, I realize how naive that sounds, but back then it was comforting. Witches and monsters and vampires can’t really hurt you, the masks in the store are always going to smell weird, the same houses are always going to give big candy bars. Those constants gave way to fun what ifs – what if a house could really be haunted, what you actually went to one of those haunted houses no one has ever gone all the way through, what if…whatever.

It was almost a balance as a kid – accepting some things with belief while still being rational enough to be wary. I suppose writing horror as an adult is a little like that, too. It takes some suspension of belief to write some of the concepts I do and have them be effective. It takes a balance of fear and technique, of keeping one foot out and one foot in.

It was fun to just drop everything and embrace what I considered scary. It’s fun these days to drop everything and embrace things that lurk at the edges of my thoughts and freak me out. And if those what if’s freak out other people, hey, so much the better.

So what’s a what if that gets under your skin…what are the things that get to you?

***

If you want to explore some creepy what ifs (and some that aren’t so creepy), feel free to check out my books!

Or, if you just want a taste, there are a lot of quick flash horror fics in the free read section!

2nd Look: Library Livin’

Published September 27, 2017 by admin

Besides teachers, I think sometimes we take for granted how much libraries and the communities they foster can really, truly encourage people, especially kids. So today’s look back deals with some of the libraries in my life.

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I’ve talked about it off and on in interviews and the like, but I cannot stress how big of an influence libraries have had on me. I still remember going into my first one as a kid. It was built into a former residence in a small Illinois town, the librarian still lived above it, and it was magic. Rooms chock full of shelves, a lovely, open front room with homey windows and dark wood, just the stuff of story books. The very first book I ever was allowed to take home was There’s a Nightmare in my Closet, and even though I already knew the plot, the thought of plucking it from a shelf (it was misplaced in the adult shelves so that made it even more important-seeming) and taking it home all by myself was a beautiful feeling. I went on to do the summer reading programs there, get vacation packets for long car trips there, I was even able to check out puppets there, something that I’m sure fed my love of the art form early on.

My mom made a point of taking me to the library any time I was interested in something, and I give her a lot of credit for my voracious love of reading today. After every Reading Rainbow episode, we made a list of titles to go searching for. Anything that I wasn’t allowed to buy on the Scholastic book forms we put on the library list. There were times during the summer when we were there every other day. I was encouraged to read anything that took my fancy, although she quickly had to put a cap on the number of titles I could get at one time (I may still have problems with limiting my TBR pile…).

That was also the library where I was accidentally locked in during the librarian’s lunch hour.The children’s room was in the very back of the place, time got away, and there I was with my mother, completely panicked that I’d never get home again…for the first five minutes until I realized that I had All. The. Books. to myself (even if I had to share with my mother). I have a vague recollection of compiling a massive stack in the amount of time it took for her to fetch the librarian’s niece, convince her that we weren’t hiding downstairs on purpose, and get her to fetch her aunt so she could let us out.

To read on, click here

2nd Look: Of Stories and General Jerkishness

Published September 20, 2017 by admin

Another look back at the teachers who have helped to shape my life and kindle the creative spark. This time, we’re going to junior high English class.

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So to truly kick of this whole new world for you and me   direction where I discuss craft and influences a little bit more, I did hunker down and think a lot about where to begin. I’ve talked in the past about my mom being very pro-books, being a library fanatic to the point of getting locked in one as a kid, and growing up a Reading Rainbow addict.

There are other people, though, who may or may not realize the part they’ve played, who may or may not accept the role they played in not only my love of reading, but the formation of the gloriously weird person that I’ve turned into. Yeah, like I’m totally going to claim all of that as my fault. Please. I’m also not going to name names, because I feel like if people don’t have a public personality, sometimes shining a beacon on them is the last thing that they’d actually want, especially if they’re part of something as vast and sundry as the public education system. I’ll leave it up to them to call me out in the comments section or something, heh.

Back in Jr. High, I went through what one might have called a phase of being something of a royal jerk. We all have those phases, and it seems that the twelve and thirteen-year-old bracket is ripe for this part of personality development. Granted, my version of jerkishness was probably tame in comparison to a lot of other people, but I definitely had those smart-alecky moments. I don’t know if growing up a minister’s kid or if growing up in a community where my parents would know what I’d been up to by dinner finally made me lash out a bit at certain points. I don’t know if I was enabled by certain friends,…honestly there’s no point really blaming anyone or anything. It was a part of my growing up, and for the most part, I’ve grown out of it.

Granted, I can still rock the sarcasm when I need to, but I consider that a life skill.

There was one English teacher, in particular, my snark got leveled at. I have no clue why. I don’t know if it was because he was younger than a lot of my other teachers if he just seemed to rise to the occasion more, or if I was just that cranky by that point in the afternoon. Maybe it was because at that point in life I liked to get the last word, maybe it was because a certain friend and I both had him as a teacher, or maybe it was the sheer fact that he didn’t know my parents so the likelihood of me hearing about what a weirdo I was at dinner every night was less likely with that class.

To read more, click here

Here, There, Everywhere!

Published September 19, 2017 by admin

Got some news in these here parts!

I’ve updated the who I am page with better contact explanations and such – eventually, I want to convert to an actual website and do something either connected or separate for my costume work, but that’s going to take time and planning.

 

Bibliorati has a new column and I was the first interview! I talk with Paula Hardin about how I got into writing, my creative motivations, and all sorts of other things. She’s great at what she does, Tommy Hancock has a wonderful site over all, and I’m happy to be featured there. Check out the full interview here!

YA Graphic Novel Reviews – wow I’m behind in posting these. My bad, go on vacation and everything crumbles to oblivion.

through the woods

I talked about how much I love Emily Carroll’s Through the Woods a few weeks ago. If you like horror that isn’t too graphic and has a slow burn, plus some beautiful art, check out my review here. 

 

courtney crumrin.jpg

I will never not shout my love of Courtney Crumrin. If you like series, you’ll love this. If you just read the first volume, it still works. This thing makes me want to run off to Goblin Town and hang out with all the fantastic creatures Ted Neifeh creates. Check out my full review here. 

 

americus

This is one of those single-book titles that’s necessary, especially for mid grade readers and above. This looks at the topic of censorship from all sides, and while I do think some portrayals are a little caricature-based, I think that overall it does a great job of promoting literature. I also really like that it’s the younger characters caught up in all of this who are the heroes and who really are the focus of the book. Read the full review here.

I’ve got a lot more on the horizon and some things are still being cemented, so definitely keep your eyes posted for where I’ll be next!

Project Pics: My Little Trenty

Published September 16, 2017 by admin

Alright, something fun for the weekend!

So, I am blessed and cursed to have friends that forget nothing and love to never let me forget anything, either.

Yeah, I now have photographic evidence of the time I made a Closer-era Trent Reznor My Little Pony for a friend’s birthday ten million years ago.

I would like to take time to heartfeltly apologize for bringing this into existence.

No, I am never doing this again (unless heavily, heavily bribed). Mostly because (at least at the time, maybe circa 2004-2006) that small of scale got to me. Now, maybe if I did something more to my liking, I might be alright. I’d have to test it out again, but I remember this specific project being pretty tedious. I’m sure part of it is I’m used to a much larger scale (usually human and above), but I think part of it is that the more modern MLPs are just that hard to work with (at least for a novice like me). It took me at least two goes, because in order to change out the hair you have to slit the head off, and I remember slipping enough the first time that the head wouldn’t fit back onto the body, and it was just a mess.

Yep.

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So, basically, I boiled the original hair out of the head, and made sort of a larger-scale needle threader to pull the hair through the existing holes. It’s about as much fun as you think. The tail was somewhat easier because it’s basically one bunch and it’s enough to actually grab onto. I can’t remember, but I may have scalped a doll from a craft store or a generic dollar store Barbie for the hair. Yeah, I know, I feel horrible just typing that.

Eyebrows, eye color changes, the NIN cutie mark/tramp stamp, and I think the boots were all done with model paint (maybe the silver boot detail with silver sharpie – that stuff is pretty magical). I just couldn’t get the hang of the molding I’ve seen on a lot of other custom ponies, and I was working on a schedule, so I played to my strengths and what I had on hand. Plus, back in my day, MLPs wore actual fabric clothes, so I’m a purist.

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If you have never tried patterning out a vinyl coat & pants and fishnet shirt for a freakin’ miniature toy horse, you’re missing out on a life experience. Granted, my original MLPs are some of the few things that have made it in tact through the years, so I likely patterned off some of the clothes I had for them as a kid (God bless the 80s). I think the shirt was the easiest part – I either crocheted or knit that on a really loose gauge then seamed it up on the body of the pony. the bandages on the forelegs are just muslin, I can’t remember if I bothered to hem the raw edges, but it appears that I did. The vinyl for the coat and pants is something I had on hand, so I did my best off of stills from the Closer music video. Because that is apparently what I was doing with my free time back then.

I never really figured out a great way to do the goggles on that scale, so point deducted for that, I guess. But yes, this exists, probably to be immortalized for all time now. It is honestly pretty cute and seeing it after all these years does amuse me, but man oh man did it take some finger gymnastics to get this thing done.