A-to-Z Challenge: Kissable/Kilowatt/Knots, Letter/Lineage/Lines

The latch clicked, the sound of drunken giggles moving away from the closet until they were in silence. Julie dared a glance at Peter, whose eyes were locked incredulously on the doorknob. He reached out half-heartedly.

“There’s no way they didn’t lock the door, is there?” he murmured. He turned the knob slowly.

“Yeah,” he said. He wiped his hand on his shorts. “Ok.”

He chanced a look at Julie. His lips quirked in a nervous smile.

“Guess the next question is,” he said slowly. “Do you think they’re sober enough to remember to let us out?”

“I don’t think sobriety has much to do with it,” Julie sighed, biting her lip. “This kind of thing is pretty on brand for Amber.”

“What, forcing people to play high school make-out games?”

“No, like, literally locking people in closets and leaving them.”

His eyes widened. She smirked.

He smiled.

“Oh,” he sighed. “Ok, you were joking.”

“No, there is every chance that Amber’s just gonna leave us here,” she said. She shifted her back against the wall, dislodging the handle of a broom from the tender space between her shoulder blades. “Ask Chrissie about the Halloween party in 2018. She’s got stories.”

He shook his head, quiet for a moment.

“At least we’re not alone.”

She laughed. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He was watching her, his eyes a dark honey color in the slats of golden light filtering through the closet door. She felt her face grow warm.

“So,” he said quietly. “Do we break down the door?”

“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully. She felt his hand brush her waist, and her stomach twisted in anticipation. “But maybe… maybe not right away.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Let’s keep that on in our back pocket.”


It had never been expressly forbidden from her, the attic; she’d caught glimpses beyond her mother’s shoulder as she’d come down with ancestral china for the holidays, the dusty rafts and golden slant of light catching her eyes just before Mother would pull the heavy door shut behind her.

As a child, whenever she’d asked any question about her family, inevitably it would lead to lavish stories of family who could do amazing things; world-class fencers, dancers, famous accordion players. If her father were in a good mood, or had had a particularly robust wine with dinner those stories would lead to some treasure or another being hauled down from the attic as proof; gleaming rapiers, wooden clogs engraved with tulips and windmills, scuffed up concertinas with thin-worn bellows.

So when Kira asked about her aunt, a vivacious and striking woman who she only remember in hazy memories of childhood summers, she had expected a grand story, and her mother touting an armful of memorobilia down the narrow stairs.

Instead, her mother went silent. She glanced over at Kira’s father, worrying her lip. Her father stared into the fire and said nothing.

“Aunt Marigold,” she had said again, slightly louder, thinking perhaps they hadn’t heard. “You remember? She used to bring me cherry cordials–“

“She disappeared,” her father said, and startled, obviously louder than even her had intended. Kira braced herself against the wall. Her father took a deep breath and picked up his paper, an unquestionably dismissive gesture.

“Went gallivanting off in search of her fortune years ago. You were still a child.” He stared at his paper, his eyes unmoving.

“We haven’t heard from her since,” he finished. Kira looked to her mother, who was idly clacking her knitting needles together. She chose to say no more.

That night, when she was certain her parents were asleep, she opened the attic door herself for the first time.


Day….Twelve?? I’m not fond of either vignette, but I’m kind of in love with the sketch idea I had for the second of the two. Another opportunity to play with transparency and glow effects.

I am exhausted tonight, so I’m going to go take a shower and head to bed to read.

Stay safe and sane, all.


This month, I’m using a random word generator to generate three words around which I will then craft a sketch and a literary vignette. I will chose my five favorites to fully flesh out (as full digital paintings and short-short stories) in May and beyond.

A-to-Z Challenge: Fox/Fire/Fashionable

No one seemed to know who she was, if the furrowed brows, and the ill-hidden whispers were any indication. Certainly, in theory, that was part of the point of a masquerade, in theory; mystery, anonymity. But in plain reality, a birthmark, a throaty laugh, the twist of a lip in a familiar smile, the cadence of speech — there was littler mystery as to who anyone behind the paper and silk masks were. David had greeted many of the guests by name, wrapped his arms around them in a familiar embrace.

But she… she was different.

“So, how do you know the host?” he asked, sipping his wine when he turned to the table they were sharing. She tipped her head to the side, observed him from below the frames of her red and golf-foil mask.

“Intimately,” she said, a smile twisting the corner of her lips.

He choked. She laughed.

“Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t resist. But honestly, it’s a long story, and not nearly as interesting as you’d like.”

“Oh? How would you know what I like?”

Her eyes flashed, gold and luminescent in the dim light.

“I have some idea,” she said. The curl of her lip revealed a glint of teeth, ivory white and unnaturally sharp.

He swallowed. She held out a hand, slender-fingered and elegant. Her nails shone crimson and gold like her mask, sharpened to a fine point.

“Come with me and we can see if I’m right,” she said.


Day Six, and one day behind — again. I know, I know, this is a repeat of every year. My brain isn’t working so good right now, guys. I’m in a slump — partly hormone-fueled, I’d wager — and having a hard time getting out. Still, every little step forward is a win. And however unsatisfied I am with any given entry (see the Insta caption for that), I have to keep in mind that it’s all supposed to be conceptual this month. I’m only putting together blueprints in April. Final products will be assembled in May.

That being said, the prose piece here was fully stream of consciousness, and written directly in the text editor as I was assembling this entry, and I’ll be honest — I’m pretty proud of this little bit of writing. It’s been ages since I’ve written anything — let alone prose — but I have been uncharacteristically happy with how the writing for this month has gone so far.

Anyway, in an attempt to get myself out of my mental slump, I think moving around and perhaps some chores are in order, so I will be doing that soon after I hit publish.

Stay safe and sane, everyone.

A-to-Z Challenge: Day/Dismissal/Direct

Today was a poor mental health day for me; I didn’t sleep much, and everything seemed overwhelming and oppressive. I managed to do a very, very rough sketch, but I didn’t write a vignette to go along with it. However, the prompts — day, dismissal, direct — have very strong sense memories for me, and the scene I sketched resonates with me quite a bit.

When I was in high school, my school building was, for all intents and purposes, on a riverbank. We were not directly on the banks of the river, I guess, but when the river flooded — which was not uncommon in the spring — our school would have to close, because the parking lot would become unusable, many of the roads in and out would become dangerous to navigate, and some of the basement-level classrooms would flood. This would mean, mid-day sometimes, they’d have to call the day and send us home.

This was in the mid-90s, pre-cell phones, and our school had two office phones and one pay phone off the social studies hallway. The lines, as you can imagine, for a school of about a thousand students, were unbearable. So, for those of us who lived within walking distance, walking was often the less frustrating option.

My best friend and I would usually leave together, heading towards my house; now, while the girl in this sketch is wearing a uniform, that’s sort of a conflation of the experiences of my high school and middle school experiences. My high school had a massive strict dress code, but my middle school had a proper uniform. Given how badly the surrounding streets would flood, we would often be wading in Catholic school khakis and buttons downs through knee-deep water, squelching most of the way through the city, along the flooded park, back to slightly drier land and busier streets. The rule was, because our folks hated us walking home through that much and mess, that if we were to do it, we were to take the most direct route to the house, which was about a twenty, twenty-five minute walk.

So of course we routinely stopped at a bodega to grab snacks and pet their cats.

The bodega I remember the most was almost claustrophobically small. There were bins of tostones and bundles of sugarcane on the counter, shelves of Goya treats and soft drinks in the cooler by the door. The huge, tortoiseshell cat would lay on the understocked shelves, watching you out of his one good eye.

We’d stop on the stoop to unwrap gold foil packs of Maria cookies and pop open cans of tamarind soda and guanabana juice. By the time we got back on my house, our feet would be rubbed raw, the flood water staining our pants stiff.

Flood days are among my fondest memories from high school.

Day Four done! Onwards and upwards to Day Five. I think I have up through “K” planned, but this weekend I’ll have to buckle down and load up the random word generator again.

It’s getting later and I have felt exhausted all day. Stay safe and sane, guys.

An Emotionally ExhaustingWeek

A few things this week:

I’m writing this slightly more than 48 hours post-full vaccination!! I got my second dose of the Moderna vaccine at Gillette Stadium on Saturday at a bit past 11 am. The whole vibe there could only be described as “festive,” honestly. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, and most (possibly all?) of the people coming through the West Clinic were there for their final doses. I walked in at 11:05 for my 11:18 appointment (technically, three minutes earlier than I should have, but I wanted to hit the bathroom first — hey, Gillette is over an hour drive from my house, and I had my morning coffee before getting in the car, ok?) and I was sitting in the post-vax observation area by 11:16. The observation deck door was open, with people post-vax milling about outside, taking selfies over the field, so of course I had to step outside. God, what a gorgeous day. Being outside has become a rarity for me; being outside on a gorgeous spring day, knowing that I could finally breathe a little easier, was an amazing feeling.

Watching that number go up in real time did funny things to my insides, guys. Just, the idea that — while we aren’t out of this yet — that this is finite. It was an emotionally as well as physically exhausting day.

The side effects hit a few hours after I got vaxxed, and peaked mid-afternoon on Sunday with chills, body aches/weakness, and a pretty bad headache. Still, given how hyped up the possible side-effects were, I feel like I got off pretty easy. I had certainly felt better, but I had most definitely felt way worse. I spent Saturday and Sunday on the couch and in bed, drinking a lot of water and watching a lot of YouTube (namely Simply Nailogical, NerdECrafter, and any and all James-Acaster-on-panel-shows compilations I could find), and after crashing last night around 10:30 (very early for me, who usually doesn’t go light’s out until about 11:40), I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. My arm is even less sore than it was after my first dose. I’m incredibly excited for more and more of my friends to get their final doses so we can start getting together again.

And to continue the ride on the emotional rollercoaster, tomorrow is, at long last, Bear’s IEP evaluation. I have nothing but respect for Bear’s teachers, but the remote learning journey is absolutely failing him, and casting in stark relief all of his learning and behavioral issues. As a highly-intelligent, hyperlexic, inattentive, hyperactive, emotionally dysregulated child, he is basically the perfect combination of both a young Kira and a young me, and we — and Bear’s teachers, for what it’s worth — are banking on a diagnosis, and hoping that getting an IEP in place will help when we finally get back to in-person lessons in September.

Oh man, September. I keep thinking about going back to work, and every time I do, I start crying. I miss going to work. I miss seeing my coworkers and my kids. If fall is one of my favorite times of the year in ordinary time, this fall is going to be the most highly anticipated ones in my life.

That’s it from me. Stay safe and sane, everyone.

Happy One Year, Merry Christmas

I’ve stuck with this blog one year.

I’ve had this blog for, I think, going on four years at this point. It’s undergone so many changes because, much like my mother before me, I am literally never happy with anything for very long. I had a really hard time finding a genuine voice for this blog, where I could be candid but still sort of focused, where I focused on creativity and productivity, but could still feel comfortable sharing stories or anecdotes from my own life. I vowed at the start of 2020 that this would be the year I stuck with projects, this blog included, and not abandon them during the inevitable awkward, getting-on-your-feet stage.

I don’t think I’ve gotten the hang of this blogging thing down one hundred percent yet, but having stuck it out for a whole year, I feel like I’m getting closer. Hopefully in 2021 I will refine it even further.

But for now, let’s put that aside.

It’s Christmas Eve. A very different feeling Christmas Eve, but not without hope for the coming months. And not without excitement for tomorrow morning.

We’ve got games and movies and Zoom calls, and a boatload of snacks sent from friends, and delicious Chinese takeout and gifts to all look forward to tomorrow. I’ve got ten days off to clean and organize and recoup and return to the work grind refreshed.

Today is doing some picking up to keep from getting overwhelmed post-gift-opening, and then old school holiday vids (as in, all the shit I grew up with that my son had yet to see), and when my wife comes home she has a “family” gift for us, and then it’s just chilling and games until bed (my son has been learning how to play Boggle, and is… like, getting weirdly good at it for a six year old?)

I hope this year encourages you to forge new traditions and find innovative ways to celebrate with friends and family from afar. I hope you are as hopeful as I am for the upcoming year, and I hope you have enough on your plate to satisfy you without overwhelming you.

I hope you are staying safe.

Cheers, everyone.

PS: I run a Simu Liu thirst blog (um… yeah), and this was my last post before my holiday hiatus, and has been my most popular by far. Enjoy.

I’m still here!

This has been an unexpectedly long time away from blogging that I’m hoping to end with this post. Not that this post in and of itself is going to be especially deep, or especially funny, or especially thoughtful. Really, I just want to break the silence and say, yes, I am still here.

Since last we spoke:

I was prescribed Paxil, which my insurance refused to cover; so I was prescribed Prozac, which my insurance was asking a 100% co-pay for (how…is that different from just not covering it?) which I then opted to simply not pick up.*

I tried weed to see if it would be helpful for acute stress/anxiety, but had a really poor reaction to the THC, which sucked a whole damn bunch.

My mom bought me CBD oil, which is working wonders for her and my dad (chronic pain), and I pick that up tomorrow.

Bear started K2, all online. He’s been pretty into so far, honestly, and has been doing pretty well behaving during the Zoom meetings, at least as well as I would expect a five-year-old to.

And… I’m working from home.

Holy fucking crap on a cracker. Let me tell you. The instantaneous relief I felt from that phone call felt a lot like euphoria; weeks and weeks and goddamn weeks of relentless anxiety and uncertainty, gone.

I mean, to be replaced by the daily anxiety of trying to juggling homeschooling a kindergartener synchronously while simultaneously teaching a class via video conferencing myself, but hey. That will eventually become routine.

I have a job. I have an income.

I….have not done any art in weeks. This is going to a long road back to feeling creative.** Actually, it’s going to be a long way back from feeling anything but exhaustion, I think.

But I’m here. We’re here. And we’re doing ok.


* The meds were a new prescription, I’m not just ditching my meds. Don’t just ditch your meds, guys — talk to a doctor first. Also, I’m not anti-med by any means, I just feel like in my situation, I’ve got a handle on the chronic anxiety, to the point where it’s really just background noise and not really something I feel like I need a daily medication for (and with the work-for-home allowance, even the acute anxiety has lessened considerably. I’m actually feeling functional again).

** I will be participating in Drawtober in October and NaNoWriMo in November, so at the very worst you’ll see me working then!

Anniversary

This is not how I expected to be celebrating my anniversary.

This is a significant one — ten years, a full decade of my life spent with my wife. We’d been talking, around the time of our ninth anniversary, of doing something big this year. Our wedding was anticlimactic (we had a small gathering in a hall where the air conditioning died several days earlier, in the middle of a heat wave, and people left — partially for their own safety — after about 3.5 hours), but the social aspects of it was lovely. We both enjoyed getting together with friends we rarely saw in the days before, congregating in hotel rooms afterward, sharing pictures online in the weeks that followed. We had thought that maybe, this year, we could do a vow renewal, or plan another little-big party (our wedding was only 40 guests, why would this be any bigger?) to celebrate the milestone.

Well. We all know the end of this story.

I am less upset than I think society thinks I should be. I’m frustrated that one of the few days of the year that are truly “ours” is being spent at home in mundaniety, but overall, I’ve made me peace with the situation. Let eleven be out big year instead — it would be perfectly on brand with our affinity for palindromes.

When I met my wife, Kira, she was 21 and I was 25; I don’t know why people felt like that was such a big deal at the time, but I had a number of friends joking about it, asking if she was old enough to drink, checking in about if she knew milestone shows from our youth. My parents warned me early on — my mother in particular, who had already earned quite a reputation in the way of wanting to control literally all of our interpersonal relationships — that someone “her age” wouldn’t be ready to settle down and was going to “use me” (in other words, all she would want was sex and all I would want was marriage and babies. Because those are desires that are set in stone and dictated by strict age guidelines, I guess).

The reality was, we were both incredibly young, in different ways. I had a job on a career path; she was working retail. I was just starting to gain my independence and was subleting a place from my parents; she had left home at 16 and never really gone back. I was on the path through graduate school, she had taken an extra year to complete all her high school credits. She had lived in dozens of cities in nearly a half dozen states, and I had never left my hometown. She had had two serious girlfriends before me; I was brand new to the dating scene. We were definitely going at different paces in some ways, but neither of us were ever really “beyond” the other; rather, we met each other where we were, and helped each other along. What was familiar territory for me was sometimes a mystery for her and vice-versa; we guided each other across terrain where we were sure-footed, to make sure the other didn’t slip.

We moved in together in September of 2009, while Kira was recovering from pertussis; in late October of that year, she surreptitiously told my mother she was going to propose, and took her ring shopping, so my mother could help pick out something to my tastes. On our eightteen month anniversary, in the restaurant where we had our first dinner date, she proposed.

Aside from family, Kira has been in my life longer and more consistently than anybody else (I have friendships that predate our relationship, but with long stretches of radio silence because life got complicated and time has a way of escaping us). We continue balancing each other out, being comforting when the other is sad, quiet when the other needs to vent, supportive when the other is trying something new. She has never stopped encouraging me in any and all of my silly, self-indulgent endeavors (how many times did she go on a grocery run and come back with chocolates, paint palates, and canvases for me??), and continues to be patient in reassuring me that things will be okay, despite, often, all evidence to the contrary.

I am incredibly lucky to have met her, and to continue to have her in my life.

Here’s to the next ten.

Life Update

So life has been kind of a lot lately. Not bad — I don’t want to give that impression; we remain incredibly lucky — just a lot. It’s a combination of things that are so minute they don’t warrant individual examination and things that are simply not my right to divulge at the moment, but either way, life has sort of gotten in the way of creative endeavors.

I mean, not entirely. I have three #DrawingPride sketches that are in the works, I have two other sketches I’m slowly puttering away on (one in the planning stages, one that’s in an early draft in my sketchbook), I still plan on doing the Tarot set, and I’m working on setting up a few hopeful side hustles for the summer and beyond.

Working, I guess, has not been the issue, but feeling capable of the focus needed to actually see anything through to completion has sort of dwindled and died.

Temporarily, at least.

Things I’ve Been Doing Instead of Being Creative or Productive

  1. Solved our first Hunt a Killer case! One month and probably about sixteen hours of work later, 30s theatre icon Viola Vane has been laid to rest. No spoilers for the case, but I will say the hunch I was so certain about for the last couple of boxes was way off. We’re already mid-way through Class of 98 (box-wise, though I feel like I really need to go back and comb through the evidence more thoroughly), and we’ll be getting the first episode of our next serialized case shipped tomorrow.
  2. Started (sort of) rewatching Adventure Time. I don’t remember what spurred me on to decide to start the rewatch, but I’ve been picking and choosing old favorite episodes for a couple of days to revisit. I’m seriously considering starting a full, linear rewatch very soon.
  3. I’ve read 20 fics for The Fanfic Summer Reading Program. I did a deep dive back into House and Sherlock fandoms for my first week of summer challenge. I’d forgotten how much I loved both of those fandoms, and I might wind up continuing to read in them despite my Nostalgia Week being over.
  4. Realized that because of quarantine-induced lack of personal purchasing, my personal budget for June is $300. I’m not looking to go and blow it for the sake of blowing it, but I am looking at potential “just for me” purchases to brighten the days.
  5. Started playing Dream Daddy. Woo, boy, am I late to this game, but I’m having so much fun. This game is hilarious, and it makes me so happy that you have the option of being gay or bi and of being cis or trans. So far I’ve completed Joseph’s track and Robert’s and… I’m pretty sure I got the “bad” ending for Joseph, but I think… I think I got the best ending I could for Robert? I don’t know. After I go through the whole game once I’ll prob restart it and try to get different endings.
  6. Bought my son his summer wardrobe. If any of you have kids, go see if The Children’s Place summer sale is still happening, because man. I got the Bear eight shirts, six pairs of shorts, and a pack of underwear for about $67.
  7. Brought my sibling-in-law in to expand our Dungeons & Dragons party (via Discord and Tabletop Simulator). They’re playing an existing character that they’ve made and played for other campaigns. Bear loves getting to talk and hang out with his entle, and after yesterday’s hour-and-a-hald D&D session, they stayed on the call chatting and hanging out for another four hours.

I’m hoping you all are doing well, holding tight and preparing to ride the (sigh) “second” wave of this virus (we never saw the crest of the first wave, but let’s not get into that). I have read that with proper precautions and a slow and responsive reaction to medical data we probably can do a slow reopening without seeing a major spike. But again, that requires people to act responsibly and… well, you all know how that goes.

But all of you are cool, responsible folks. Right??

Stay safe, sane, and inside. Cheers. Hope to have some cool art stuff to show you all soon.

A-to-Z Challenge: Hurdles Even Here

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This is a day overdue, but I had a bit more room to breathe today — no classes for either Bear or I, and my husband was home and helped alleviate the most soul-crushing of the chores (though I still have plenty to do Monday; not going to bother doing any tonight or tomorrow.  I’m not a religious person, but old habits are hard to break, and I was raised with Easter being a resting day).  Once Monday rolls around, I’ll have Bear’s classes, an 8:30 am class of my own, followed by training at 10 am (though I’m pretty sure I’m just going to log on while I’m folding laundry, so at least I can multitask), so I’m thinking some of tomorrow’s resting will be the far-more-enjoyable-than-chores task of working a bit on Monday’s A-to-Z.

Anyway, on to yesterdays.  Acrylic, once again, on a 12” x 16” canvas.

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Hurdles Even Here
So it started in your ovaries
A stone, a seedling
Our bones entwined
A warning from the orderlies
A bulge for bleeding
This will take it’s time

So it all ran down the telephone
And saw me clearly
Only nine years old
Calmly cast in styrofoam
In my Tony Lomas
When the shock takes hold
Mom, there are hurdles here
That I cannot seem to clear
Dad, there are demons around
And though I said that I
Said I’d be all right, I lied

I lied
I lied
I lied 

So fix your brood and belly now
Get your fingers wringing
Get your loins unstained
It’ll eat you from the inside out
Until it comes out screaming
Until it all falls away 

Dad, there are hurdles here
That I cannot seem to clear
Mom, there are demons around
And though I said that I
Said I’d be all right, I lied

I lied
I lied
I lied

Lazing (31 Day Challenge: Days 28 & 29)

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28.  What’s in My Closet

Every piece of clothing I own – we don’t do “winter” and “summer” clothes, here.  Probably fifteen or so dresses, twenty-ish skirts, literal stacks of t-shirts, sweaters, and leggings, a few pairs of jeans, and lots of various tunics and button-downs.  I have a double wide closet with shelving, and my clothing takes up more than 3/4ths of it.  We also have a platform bed with under-the-bed storage comprised of eight drawers, and my stuff take up half of those (my husbands takes up 1/4th, with the remaining 1/4th being old Halloween costumes and bathing suits).  I have a lot of clothes, and yet I’m generally dissatisfied with my wardrobe.  I’d really like to curate a more signature look, but it’s hard when I feel like my aesthetic is about a dozen different things all at once.

29.  How I Started Writing

I don’t remember not writing.  The older I’ve gotten, the more sporadic and touch-and-go my writing has gotten, but when I was young, I remember writing (and drawing, come to that) all the time.  The first thing I remember writing were several small books that all had essentially the same plot, wherein a princess gets attacked by a bear (in one version, a knight come and kills the bear to save her, in another she, like, gets mugged by the bear?  And he takes her money and runs off?  I was six, I don’t know).  I also remember writing what was my first and likely only foray into self-insert, crossover fanfiction at age nine or ten, though looking back, I realize a lot of what I wrote would have been classified as some genre of fanfic (I’m completely okay with that, it’s just an interesting observation).  I’m not a naturally overtly social person (though I like being around people and interacting with the people I’m comfortable with) and my parents were pathologically overprotective and isolating, so writing was a great way for me to pass the time and have something to occupy my mind.


I’m going to have to accept the fact that my A-to-Z sketches are going to be even more amateurish and, well, sketchy than my usual art, because I won’t have the luxury of limitless time (sure, I’m still on lockdown, and I defintiely have more time than I normally would, but I also have a kid, another monthly challenge, and I’m taking on a flexible schedule for Camp NaNoWriMo because I need to get all the fanfic stagnanting on my Google Docs done and out of there, damn it).

I’m currently art blocked as hell, and the above observation was made because I tried sketching out some ideas for possible A-to-Z entries yesterday.  Yesterday was a highly self-critical day (don’t know why, nothing different about the day than any other day since lockdown started), so maybe I’ll feel better about things when the challenge actually starts, but I’m not holding my breath.  Much like Inktober, this will be entirely for practice and to prove to myself that I can complete such a challenge.  And to be fair, I stumbled upon my Inktober 2018 drawings while deep-diving on Facebook last night, and holy hell, I have legitimately improved.  I’m still amateurish and clumsy, but so, so much better than I was a year and a half ago.  Clearly regular practice helps, so that’s what this is — a month of regular practice.

I’m wondering if part of the reason I suddenly became “art blocked” is because a part of me knows that I will be doing the A-to-Z challenge in a few days and I shouldn’t start a new project with that one looming on the horizon.  On the flipside as well, if this goes well, I can always start turning to song lyrics to inspire future art.

It’s gray out today.  I know I haven’t been leaving the house, but it’s amazing how much of a difference sunlight — even just sunlight filtering through my curtains — makes in my over-all mood and energy.  I didn’t even get out of bed until past 9 am, which is insanely late for me, and have yet to really delve into my dailies.  Actually, I’ve yet to figure out what my “dailies” constitute today.

The house is kind of a mess, but not so bad I can’t integrate it into our routine for tomorrow (Bear has actually gotten kind of into the idea of cleaning the kitchen and putting away dishes), and I do have all those books to read…

It’s Sunday.  Today may be a pretty lazy day, but isn’t that what Sunday’s were meant for?

Stay safe, sane, and healthy — and so much as you can, stay inside.


(Also, apropos of nothing,  I am almost definitely hearing a chicken outside, but I live in the middle of a highly urban area and already had one next door to me two apartments ago, how many people in this city could possibly keeping illicit chickens and how do I keep ending up with them for neighbors?)