Let’s Draw Lysander in a slightly less cartoony fashion
Lysander facts:
Lysander was originally the imaginary friend of a thirteen-year-old girl sometime in the 1980s. The girl’s name was Beth but he doesn’t remember what his name was then. Becky named him Lysander when she first found him, but who knows why. She probably just thought it sounded cool.
He didn’t always look like that either - in the beginning he was probably meant to be between sixteen and eighteen years old, pale, sort of fluffy hair. But as the imaginaries gradually lose their sense of self they tend to caricaturize and distill down to their most distinctive features - he got taller and thinner, the hair got out of control. When Becky found him, her influence got him to looking a bit more human again, though her initial impression of him made him recrystallize in a different way this time. He doesn’t remember what he used to look like, though considering that multiple people have independently nicknamed him “Starman” and “Major Tom” (and, in Nelsey’s case, “the Thin White Spook,” which he admitted was pretty funny) you can probably get an idea of what he was built from.
He doesn’t have to eat but he does anyway sometimes, though he prefers soup and hot drinks to actual solid food. If he’s away from Becky for long enough to start getting all ghosty again it stops working, and if he tries to drink something it’ll just sort of pour back out of him. It’s gross.

Let’s Draw Lysander in a slightly less cartoony fashion

Lysander facts:

  • Lysander was originally the imaginary friend of a thirteen-year-old girl sometime in the 1980s. The girl’s name was Beth but he doesn’t remember what his name was then. Becky named him Lysander when she first found him, but who knows why. She probably just thought it sounded cool.
  • He didn’t always look like that either - in the beginning he was probably meant to be between sixteen and eighteen years old, pale, sort of fluffy hair. But as the imaginaries gradually lose their sense of self they tend to caricaturize and distill down to their most distinctive features - he got taller and thinner, the hair got out of control. When Becky found him, her influence got him to looking a bit more human again, though her initial impression of him made him recrystallize in a different way this time. He doesn’t remember what he used to look like, though considering that multiple people have independently nicknamed him “Starman” and “Major Tom” (and, in Nelsey’s case, “the Thin White Spook,” which he admitted was pretty funny) you can probably get an idea of what he was built from.
  • He doesn’t have to eat but he does anyway sometimes, though he prefers soup and hot drinks to actual solid food. If he’s away from Becky for long enough to start getting all ghosty again it stops working, and if he tries to drink something it’ll just sort of pour back out of him. It’s gross.

Whenever it gets close to mother’s day I always think of the professor of my photography class, who had a strong Italian accent that resulted in her consistently dropping esses from certain plural or possessive English words. The final assignment for the class involved having a book printed of photographs we had taken, and the company we used to print them was affiliated with some greeting card company, which meant that they tended to get overwhelmed when Sentiment Holidays approached. Placing your order too close to mother’s day was pretty much a guarantee that you would fail to get it in time for the deadline, and likewise fail the class. Mother’s day was spoken of the way you’d talk about Ragnarok, and with the same tone and inflection, with just a hint of English-language failure.

"Get your orders in soon," the professor would remind us, daily, as the end of the semester approached. "Don’t forget. Mother Day is coming.

Time to go back and redraw old Forgottenspace characters I drew a long time ago (though the image in that post appears to be broken now, for reasons unknown) - this one is Oslo, about whom I can say very little without spoiling a major story event. I mostly don’t care about that because I don’t expect this story to actually go anywhere, but I feel like I should probably conserve a few of them.
Oz is what the people in the Forgotten call an “angel,” which is about as accurate as them calling Fenton a “demon,” i.e. not very. The word for these guys in their own language would probably best be translated as “construct,” but they usually just go with “us.” The angels are universally sexless and pretty, with unusually symmetrical features and an impressive resistance to scarring, but aside from this they vary wildly in appearance. Plus their phenotypic traits seem to just be put together randomly with no regard for the standards of human ethnicity, so you end up with dark-skinned ones with silky white hair, or a tiny Asian-looking one with a red afro. They are mostly sweet and pleasant but can also kill you without even trying if they feel threatened, so, no sudden movements please. Nobody really knows where they came from, and they don’t feel like telling.

Time to go back and redraw old Forgottenspace characters I drew a long time ago (though the image in that post appears to be broken now, for reasons unknown) - this one is Oslo, about whom I can say very little without spoiling a major story event. I mostly don’t care about that because I don’t expect this story to actually go anywhere, but I feel like I should probably conserve a few of them.

Oz is what the people in the Forgotten call an “angel,” which is about as accurate as them calling Fenton a “demon,” i.e. not very. The word for these guys in their own language would probably best be translated as “construct,” but they usually just go with “us.” The angels are universally sexless and pretty, with unusually symmetrical features and an impressive resistance to scarring, but aside from this they vary wildly in appearance. Plus their phenotypic traits seem to just be put together randomly with no regard for the standards of human ethnicity, so you end up with dark-skinned ones with silky white hair, or a tiny Asian-looking one with a red afro. They are mostly sweet and pleasant but can also kill you without even trying if they feel threatened, so, no sudden movements please. Nobody really knows where they came from, and they don’t feel like telling.

I built myself a dress as a sort of prototype for a pattern I drew based on a shirt I got from a Sport Team I was on a long time ago (haha imagine me trying to play a sport, my goodness) and it actually turned out pretty well so I drew it! The armholes are a little odd due to cumulative minor adjustments but I decided to wear it anyway; I wore it to the Faerie Festival, which, if you don’t know what that is, I’ll just say that I purchased a small piece of bismuth crystal and on at least two occasions throughout the day I heard distant bagpipes playing the Game of Thrones theme song.

I built myself a dress as a sort of prototype for a pattern I drew based on a shirt I got from a Sport Team I was on a long time ago (haha imagine me trying to play a sport, my goodness) and it actually turned out pretty well so I drew it! The armholes are a little odd due to cumulative minor adjustments but I decided to wear it anyway; I wore it to the Faerie Festival, which, if you don’t know what that is, I’ll just say that I purchased a small piece of bismuth crystal and on at least two occasions throughout the day I heard distant bagpipes playing the Game of Thrones theme song.

I tried to wake up in the middle of the night to watch the lunar eclipse, but instead the actual light of the actual moon just kept me awake the whole night, vacillating between sleep and consciousness in hour-long intervals while I repeatedly dreamed about being in the house I lived in during college but with an inexplicable impression that I was no longer supposed to be there.

"I’m sorry," I said to the person who appeared to live in the room I thought was mine. "I thought this was my room, but it’s obviously not. Do you know where my room is? Because I don’t. Do I live here? I thought I did but I have a feeling I don’t really."

"Don’t worry," said the girl, who I think was an actual person I knew there for a while. "I know where it is… Or I mean, I think… It’s around here somewhere, I know it is, maybe we’re on the wrong floor-"

"No, no, it’s fine," I told her. "I don’t think I live here, I don’t think this is even real. I’m like ninety percent sure I’m dreaming, here, hold on-" and here I came very close to sticking my finger through the palm of her hand to illustrate, before deciding this would be rude and using my own hand instead. "Yeah, look at that, see? That explains it."

Later, waking up in a room I am quite sure I never lived in, I found a large folded poster that did not belong to me and set about asking everyone in the house if they knew where it had come from.

"Did you put this in there while I was sleeping?" I asked a stranger.

"No," they said. "Maybe it was that robot with the TV for a head."

"Oh, yeah," I said. "Probably was. I don’t know who let that guy in here anyway."