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You’re seeing this preamble because you’re ‘reblogging’. As the creating author of this post, I ask that you please respect my copyrights. How, you ask? In the following manner:

1) keep the title I gave this post;

2) display my name, Ryl Mandus, as its author; and

3) create a functioning link-back to the originating post on this blog,

By all means, quote me if you need to. Someday I may be in the position to return the favor.

Good writing,

— Ryl

Unless it involves kittens in my lap, I’m just not into cute and fluffy*.  One look at some of the gaming illustrations I’ve done will burst that shiny little bubble right quick.

[FADE OUT.  DISSOLVE INTO PAST.]

So there I was, back in my sci-fi convention days.  This woman — a generic con geek — shuffles up to my table in the artists’ alley.  She looks around at my art, then asks:

“Do you take commissions?”

Me:  “Sure.  What do you need?”

Her:  “A painting of a unicorn.”

Me:  “Okay, I can –”

Her:  “But not a fake unicorn!  I want a painting of a real unicorn!”

Me:  I blink.  I blink again.

Her:  “Can you do that?”

Me:  “Well, yeah.  But if you want ‘real’, you’ll have to provide some reference photos.”

She nodded in thought, then smiled and took one of my business cards.  “Great!  I’ll get back to you on that!”  And then she shuffled away.

Did I ever heard back from her?  No.  And I’ve often wondered how long it took for the little light in her head to turn on,….

— Ryl

* This surprises some people.  Many presume my being female — thus girlishly oozing with estrogen — that I was born addicted to pink and fairies and rainbows, and stuff like that.  The sad fact is this:  when I was seven years old I was inconsolably distraught that I wasn’t Jonny Quest, and never would be.  I was a tree-climbing, rock-throwing tomboy from the word GO!’,…

Nothing’s really changed.

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