Sometimes we meet members of DeviantART who are just plain cool. They leave critique, they make great art or write great stories, they participate in groups and are generally just active and fun to be around. They also don't get any attention because being cool means you don't need attention to keep being cool. This interview series is meant to give all of you a small glimpse into the minds of these demonstrably deviant members. Twice monthly, I'll interview one of these deviants and feature work from their gallery. If you'd like to see someone interviewed for this series, just shoot me a note with the subject "Demonstrably Deviant".
IrrevocableFate: Hug Addict and Bubbly Lit Queen
It is likely impossible not to know Stephany if you've been in the lit community more than a week or two. Her Love dA Lit articles are always appearing in the footer. To top if off, she's started a new series that goes more indepth with some of dA's finest lit groups. She's an admin for several prominent groups and generally just a warm fuzzy presence in the community. Plus she sends out dinosaurs for Christmas. If you've yet to meet this invaluable member of our community, you're in for a real treat.
1. Let's start with the basics: How did you discover deviantART and what made you stay?
I still don't remember exactly how I stumbled across deviantART. All I can tell you is that I joined in June of 2007 because dA tells me so. However, what really made me stay is the community. I remember posting some of my terrible sixteen-year-old-type poetry/prose and getting a few encouraging comments from deviants. I started looking around to improve myself and became involved in a few clubs[that is what they were called before groups! ].
After that I was interacting all over the Lit Community and making some absolutely amazing friends. And I'm still making friends!
2. What deviation are you most proud of in your gallery? Tell us a little about the creative process behind it.
I knew this was coming. This question really isn't fair, I haven't posted anything to dA since January so just about everything in my gallery needs a bit of polishing up as it isn't where I want it to be. If I had to choose it would be Of Half-Filled Words.
My creative process is about the same for everything I write and it's not terribly interesting or complicated. For this piece though, I spent an extensive amount of time on it. I had written a few lines that related to my personal thoughts and let them linger in my massive document of incomplete works for a few months. I fell across them again and kept it going with it. I always write what I feel first [there isn't really another way to describe it] and then I go back and edit it as much as I can. For poetry I tend to get very intense over word choice and I know with this piece I wanted everything to be as close to perfect as possible.
3. What influences weigh most heavily into your work?
I am going to answer with 'pretty much everything influences my work' because it actually does. Every-day life, the unusual in life, movies, books, conversations, weather, everything. Sometimes the way someone says a word will hit me and I will have to write about the word or the person speaking it. Sometimes I'll come up with something else entirely unrelated to it just because it somehow inspired me.
I think they key to being a good writer is learning that you will be influenced by a variety of different things. Things that may be the opposite of what you agree with, something you downright can't stand or something you couldn't imagine being without. These are what you use to make your writing relatable, realistic, what have you. They may not lead to the greatest piece you've written, but they lead you forward as long as you're willing to improve. [Not part of the question, but every once in a while I get talkative. ]
4. Now something a little different. If you could exact revenge against someone or something, what would it be and how would you go about it? (You may not kill the person or thing.)
Whaaaat. Me? Revenge?
I am not a vengeful person in the least bit. But here is how I would do it:
I would extract revenge by hugging the person, telling them that it's okay and that forgive them. Possibly hugging them again. Maybe hugging them once more for good measure because you never know. Yep, that is my revenge.
5. What is your favorite sound? Why?
I absolutely adore the sound of other people's voices. It doesn't particularly matter if their voice is pleasant or not so pleasant, I've always been fascinated by how people sound.
The sound of falling snow is another of my favorites, it's one of those sounds I could just listen to endlessly because it's so peaceful. It's like what a caress would sound like if I had to describe it, if that makes any sense.
In that vein I also love the striking absence of sound, there is something to be said for that moment where things seem to be suspended.
6. Lastly - If deviantART was a country, who would you elect to government and what position would s/he fill?
Oh dear, oh dear. That depends on who is running. I suppose Vigilo as Headmistress of Libraries and Loveliness. So we can build our amazingly awesome library with thousands and thousands and thousands of books by the sea that has a clock tower made of books, a bell tower made of sea shells and a glass dome so you can read and look out at the water. She will be in charge of hiring
Really, I'm like a twelve year old.
A Selection from IrrevocableFate's Gallery
Glimpses Through Windows"What's it like to snake your fingers through gravity and rope the Earth's water with it?"
I wondered, if for a moment, he would actually listen if I gave him an answer.
"What's it like to breathe?" I asked, and though I knew he couldn't really hear my question, I wondered what he'd think if he knew who I really was. If he could actually understand me.
The conversation was taking eons because I would stop and sprinkle stardust on the grass; waiting for the sun to peer from behind me. He held his breath, but I can't feel the oxygen settling in his chest. I can't. I can't.
"You're not very good at this, are you."
It wasn't a question this time. More of you are there and so I'm telling you because you're there statements. I wasn't good at answering questions anyways. He didn't stay outside for long, they never do. The warmth of a house draws them back.
"Look how pretty the moon is, mommy!"
Her voice caught my attention, paper cup pressed up against her ear she waited for a response
Pinky Promising Orion's Belt"They are butterflies with their wingspans sawed in half and I want to join them in holy matrimony. Or not so holy matrimony, since I've always tired from plexiglass lectures given by those past-their-prime ministers. I expect those butterflies to lead me to the edge of the world, granted I have a map, but half-wingspan-butterflies get you there quicker. At least that's what he told me."
"What are you talking about Sarah?" she propped herself on grass kissed elbows and glared at my forehead, "I think you ramble too much."
"It'd be a good place to visit, Charlotte."
"You're right I'm sorry."
She paused to spread her threadbare arms along the ground.
"Are you inviting me there?"
"I wouldn't go without you," I said, twirling a smile against my lips and letting my hair become dampened by the tiny dew-star droplets.
"I love you."
"Of course you do."
She says this with a straight face and I try to restrain my laughter, "You're supposed to say it back."
She smirks, with love tappi
Chameleon Smiles"I always wanted matching straight jackets," she said, pressing her minuscule fingertips against the bent backs of dandelions and clovers. I only managed to blink back the laughter because even though she smiled lovingly at the sky, her eyes said "sometimes-I-think-I-belong-in-one."
"Don't be ridiculous," I say, leaning back onto the blanket of sun-worn grass.
She pouts with her all ready withered twenty two year old lips, "I'm not being ridiculous."
I smile and close my eyes as her innocence laden voice rambles on about why the sky really turns black--she is adamant that it's because a monster-star swallows up all the colours then spits them back in the morning. While the other stars are only there to avert suspicion by sparkling not-brightly-enough. I laugh and shake my head as her hands wash over my arm, trying to pull me into her descriptions. She never lets me forget how wrong about her I am.
"You could at least listen to me," I can imagine her rolling her eyes at me