*Sigh* I hate this part, I really do. Everyone puts a portion about themselves on their webpage because they think people actually give a crap. However, if you didn't care to learn about me, you wouldn't be here, so I might as well oblige.
My name's Malice. Alright, it isn't really Malice, I mean that's not what's on my birth certificate, but you know what I mean. Actually, I think RageHeart is more accurate because I've been using it as my penname since '92. But anyway...
I'm 34. Getting old blows donkey cock. I live in NYC, the stress center of the universe. I may write m/m fiction, but I like women too. I guess that makes me bi. Whatever. I'm a Bald Eagle Scorpio with my Rising sign in Taurus, in case you're into that astrology crap. Just to be fair, the stuff on this site is old. I haven't picked up a pencil or typed out an original word (save for my lame ass cooking blog) in about a year and a half. Why, you ask? Because I work at night and my job is sapping out my creativity and my will to live.
No, to be honest, I cannot write because I'm not miserable enough. Seriously, I'm at my best when in emotional turmoil. It's my great escape. Without the misery, I fear the muses have abandoned me. I've been trying to get over this hurdle for some time now, to no avail. This is the cruel joke of the Fates. I'm sure it's even funny if you aren't the butt of it.
I truly love it when I write, when the words flow from my fingertips, and I get the feeling that I'm not the creator at all, merely the scribe. I used to suck monumentally bad at it, but now people tell me I'm not half bad. (Thanks to my Betas, I love them!) The characters really are from my weird, tripped out head and you enjoying their misadventures is an added bonus.
Oy, this one's horrible. I know, I know, it's a lot to take in at once. Sit back and relax for a moment. Breathe. That's it. See? All better.
Attitude: I'm an asshole. No, really. Be glad you only have to deal with me through a vessel you can choose to switch off at a moment's notice. As my real time friends, lover and family will tell you, they don't get that luxury.
Okay, so now some pointless art you don't care about. Can I be honest? I'm just throwing this shit together in case I lose it, it's always backed up online. Free, very limited cloud storage. Haw! /=P
This a sketch of me and my old group of friends from back in the day as anthros. Don't ask me why I was on an anthro kick for a while, I blame an old friend of mine, but I'm better now. p.s. I'm the tiger.
My kid sister and our dad. This is just a study in childhood psychosis. Worst part is, this is one of the milder pieces.
That being said, I'm not going to explain this pic to you, unless I'm paying you to be my shrink.
The pic next to it is a drawing I made for a friend, wildfire for her birthday.
This is a pic I made for 2 old friends of mine I used to chat with. What worries me is that I haven't heard from the girl since I sent this to her. /=( I hope I didn't frighten her away. I can almost picture her looking at it going, "OMG does my face really look like that?? What a jerkoff!"
This is one of the only colored works I have scanned, and it's only because I made it for Chester, so I put a lot into it cause I wanted to impress him. It's a drawing of his character, Chester Foxworth that he used for his page. Wonder if it's still active? I mean, it's been years. I actually can't stand the way the table legs came out. And even though people say I'm my own worst critic, I think they look like noses. Take a good look at 'em and you'll have to agree. Noses, dammit!
I must take my leave now, and I'm sure you have better things to read, so you must also return from whence you came. Besides, I'm sick of talking about myself. Go look at something else, for fuck's sake.
