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Finish What You Crafted, Human!

As you may have guessed from the title, I'm about to arts-and-crafts at you.  So get out your glue gun and buckle up, things are about to get messy.

Five Minute Dust Sprites



Yes, Dust Sprites, in the style of Hayao Miyazaki!  So, let's get started.  Here's what you need:
  • Black pom-poms 
  • Googly eyes
  • Star-shaped cake sprinkles
  • Hot glue gun
  • Sticky Label
  • Pen
Optional:
  • Toothpicks
  • Black permanent marker


1. Uh, well, glue the googly eyes to the pom-poms.  If you're me, this involves a lot of screaming as I accidentally glue googly eyes to my fingers.


2. Draw or print the label for the sprinkles.


3. Awwwwwwww!


4. If you want to give them arms and legs, color two toothpicks with permanent marker.


 5. Snap that sucker in half.


6. More gluing.  More screaming.  Suffer for your art(s and crafts).


7.  Ta-da!

For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm talking about these guys:
Now go watch some Spirited Away or My Neighbor Totoro.


P.S. The next chapter of The Culling is up on Wattpad, just in case you know.  Hint hint.

P.P.S. I know I usually post a teaser from the chapter I'm posting, but this week I'm going to post something completely unrelated.  Ready?  No?  Too bad.

"The library is closed," said a voice. 
There was no way the voice was talking to him. He was well hidden; no one could see above that top shelf, especially not with the lights dimmed. Below him there was a creak. It was hard not to move and the urge to look down was insatiable. 
Creak. 
It was getting closer. Unable to resist, he moved his head. 
Creak. 
Something glinted in front of his face. As he squinted in the dim light, it finally came into focus. A silver revolver, Smith and Wesson, if he had to guess. It had a funny nickname, Late-night, no it was Midnight. Midnight Special. 
He looked at the woman holding the gun with a measure of resignation. Librarians sure had changed. This woman would sooner shoot than shush him. 
"I said, the library is closed," she repeated. Her hair was beginning to fall out of her bun, her glasses dangling around her neck on a decorative chain. Ink stained the side of her right hand and a light down of cat hair covered her sweater. 
"Please don't shoot m'am," he begged, "I'm not here to harm the books, I just wanted out of the cold." 
"You can't be here," she looked below her furtively. Before he could respond, there was the sound of a book cart being pushed across the room.

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