I want to write stories for you in varying anthropomorphic worlds. These stories will be about a pet of yours or you, as an animal of your choice. I am even willing to draw again! (NB: The project image was designed by Nicole Yeo.)
I'd like to put the stories and drawings together into a collection, with names changed unless you request otherwise. These stories will be edited by Emily Suran, who is not me, or a variation of me, and is a much better editor than I could ever hope to be. She even edited this Project Description.
I'm a relatively unknown author, so to prove my abilities, here are some writing samples. I wrote The Hearing Monoculture Rejects Those Who Can't Hear for Model View Culture. I write mini-farewell letters to people who leave the company I work for. I've written a few things on my website, though they're all terribly outdated.
Those samples are all non-fiction, but I also write copious amounts of fiction that no one has yet gotten their paws on. I'm hoping to change that. Here's a 1-page story I wrote just for this project. You can see for yourself whether you like my style. At least now you know I'm serious.
The Tabby's Tale
The tabby was ripped off her owner's shirt, now a mess of fibers and cat hair. The tendons of his fingers tightened around the flexible skin of her neck, and she screeched, clawing against empty air.
"What are you doing?" she cried, but, as usual, her owner didn't understand her. He carried her to a dark cage in the back of a gleaming contraption held up by four rubber circles, locked the cage, and slammed the outer door closed.
The gleaming contraption coughed the vile smell of gasoline and sped off. She retreated to the edge of the cold metal cage, and licked at her hair. It didn't matter where she was going; she refused to look like one disgraced. She'd hold her head high and honorable, her hair sleek and shiny, her tail pristine fluff.
Moments later, the tabby felt the contraption grumble to a stop. Her owner took the cage out, and said something to her in a language she could not understand. His eyes seemed to plead with her. She mewed in response. She had provided for him, killed the rats and cockroaches in his house, let herself be petted and patted, and, in return, what had he done? He betrayed her.
The owner brought the cage into a brick home. Once inside, the tabby's eyes cast about in wonder: Cats leapt everywhere. A Scottish Fold prowled about, its orange eyes bright against a fuzz of gray hair. The white fur of a Persian darted up a post made of sisal all the way to the top, where it padded around into a curl. A jet-black cat with yellow eyes vaulted onto a slab of wood next to the tabby. Her owner opened the cage. The jet-black cat jumped down and padded toward her, its paws soft and silent on the hardwood.
"Welcome," the jet-black cat said, its purr deep and rich. "The human has brought you. The Archive is waiting."
The owner shook the cage, and the tabby slunk out, forgetting her earlier promise to stand tall. "What do you mean?" the tabby said. "Where am I?"
The black cat smiled. "The Archive will explain everything." With a flick of its head, the black cat led her to a cat who looked impossibly old, as old as its whiskers were long. Its fur had leeched into a pallid gray long ago, and its left eye had clouded into a milky white. The tabby could smell the stench of death hanging in its tepid breath.
"Child," sighed the cat. Its voice was quiet and slow, yet thrummed with power. "I am the Archive. Tell us your story. It must be meowed."
"My story?" the tabby asked. "What story?"
"The story of how you first arrived at kitty daycare."
Risks and challenges
I haven't drawn anything in three years. For reference, the last thing I drew: http://www.davidpeter.me/system/photos/images/000/000/046/large/eWffo5j.jpg…Learn about accountability on Kickstarter
- (2 days)