Clint Pitman

[Pitman]

DOSSIER: CIVILIAN

 

”I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.”

BASIC DETAILS

NAME:
Clint "Pitman" Pitman

AGE:
Twenty-three

GENDER:
Male

NATIONALITY:
U.S.A. Citizen "American"

BIRTHPLACE:
Denver, CO


BIRTHDATE:
07/05/1988


PICTURE:

Spoiler:

*********

PERSONAL DETAILS

DESCRIPTION:

Like all things about myself, it is hard to capture into words. I will start with something that others frequently note on: My hair. It is often a mess and women do enjoy running their fingers through it. Naturally spiked; my locks of brown hair point out in all directions, with their bends and twists. That aside, I am a regular looking fellow, I suppose. A bit too thin--a bit too pale, as my mother posts on Facebook. What does she know anyhow? If you'd remove my clothing, you'd find track marks, which I hide well. Long sweaters hide the ones on my arms, and the rest are covered by what I may have. Pants, shoes, socks--is this really necessary? Why are you asking me such a question? What do you look like? Absurd right? Anyway, that's all I have to say about my physical appearance, you can make your own opinions later.

PERSONALITY:

An ever stranger question than before, how does a man characterize himself? Well, I suppose I can only know myself by what my friends say of me. The ravages of my mind are hard tracked, and I often get lost in my own confusion. Though my friends have articulately told me their thoughts, so I will put some excerpts of them here.

Johnny, my novelist friend, describes me thus:

The other day, when we were talking to those girls, you interrupted me which was quite rood--rude. Though you coerced them well enough. You have a strange way about you when confronting the opposite sex. Ignoring them to the fullest, until they give into the silence and they merge with you. Beating them up with your silence.

Max, my poet friend, his thoughts:

O' great Caesar, who kneels at the feet of knaves. Pave the way with your thoughts, until the road is cast with such sincerity, the liars join the que. Born to strife in your magnitude, until they cry. Thou art Man. Thou art flaw. Your eyes soar, and you are high, but when you fall the earth cracks beneath your pitch.

Kathy, my ex-wife:

What is wrong with you? I've been supporting you for two years, and I've seen no book come? You told me only a year, and you would be able to support yourself! I'm starving in this place! You spend my money on dope, and you stay out all night with your friends. I know about your whores. Don't lie to me! Don't you fucking speak. I'm leaving, Clint.

My mother:

You have great potential, but you need work. You can't sit about the house all day, doing nothing. What will happen when your my age and you have my social security? You need a job. Yes, yes, you're a writer. That's all well and good, but has your writing put any food on the table? No? I thought so.

HISTORY:

Finally, a point I can touch on. My life, as I knew it began on a partly-sunny day. My mother walked down the side walk, dragging me by the hand. Little feet paddling to keep up, her long fingers attached to my chubby arm. There is little I can remember of the day, but it marks my first memory. The day I awakened to consciousness. I must of been four or five.

Through adolescence, I heard of my father from tales of my mother. Though I would only come to meet him three or four times. My mother was the babysitter of his children, and there was a incident of infidelity on his part, which from I was conceived. I never thought I needed a father, as the books in my youth taught me the fatherly lessons I needed. I had Hemingway, Shakespeare, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Kerouac, Hall, Shaw, and other writers who kept my mind busy.

My schools days were littered with literature, sexual discovery, and banal friendships. I learned nothing in particular from my early schooling, other than a great dislike for teachers, but a love of writers. Directly, I had very low grades and was lucky to have graduated from "High-School" all together.

Through college came my true awakening of life. I found a deeper self worth and consciousness that breaks through even today. The realization that I had to be a writer came swiftly. I had gathered some literary friends who would make great names for themselves. The madness of my college time gave birth to my first marriage, and dissolved it in the same breath.

Outside of college, I worked various random jobs. From fast-food to a rental car leaser. All jobs which I loathed, and it wasn't until I met a very wealthy young poet, by the name of William--that my troubles dissipated. William's family left him a healthy trust fund, which has allowed me--on his back, to write freely.

*********

FACTION:
Friends/Self/Humanity

SKILLS:
Eloquent.
Well enough writer.

WEAKNESSES:
Women.
Heroin.
Loneliness.
Not good Gr@mm3r?
COLOURS:

Orange/English (Character only speaks 1 language)

TRIVIA:

- Junky
- Published a single short story

*********

USER DETAILS

ALIAS:
Pitman

OTHER CHARACTERS:
N/A

ROLEPLAY HISTORY:
A couple of years.

FACECLAIM:
None

CUSTOM RANK:
The Writer.

[Pitman]

Bump

[Lazarus Carter]

REVISE

Please, don't bump your apps unless you add something to them. We'll get to them. We just have things to take care of especially being back to school and what with some staff moving into new houses currently.

1] Birthdate: The site date is March 2012. Your birthdate would make you 23, not 25. Edit accordingly.

2] Nationality: Caucasian is an ethnicity. State which nation Clint comes from. Presumably America.

3] Spacing: Finally, for the first few fields, can you space it so the content is split from the title with a line break? So:

Name:
Clint Pitman

instead of

Name: Clint Pitman

4] Faceclaim: Just delete it if you dunno where the image comes from.

Either way, this is a nice app! A good change to see someone on the outside of the typical plot, an everyman. You should drop in the box some time and say hello!

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