I’ve been working hard for several weeks, just trying to get up my nerve. I started this new project and, while it’s not the project itself that has me second-guessing myself, it’s the name of it.
If you’ve read through my blog, you know I like to make things. All the things. All. The. Things. I’m interested in fine arts like drawing and painting, writing, photography, music–specifically composition and vocals, cooking, crafting, gardening, yarn art, and on and on and on. I have this curious mind that just won’t stop until I’ve tried my hand at making all the things.
Well last year, I decided I needed to focus this blog on my writing (it’s my greatest dream to be a writer full time) and move all the other projects to a new place. I wanted to do it this way because there is so much here that is personal, so many thoughts and memories that I’ve typed into this particular space while batting away tears or laughing out loud. They’re all home here. I can’t imagine writing all of that into a new space. Somehow (yup, I’m probably just crazy), I just don’t think it’d be the same.
I used to not think too much of cacti. They can seem so off-putting and well…prickly.
But now, I think of them as these beautiful miracles that survive the harshest of conditions. Not only survive but thrive–flower even! Seems there’s a lesson in there somewhere.
I’ve been working on a few little illustrations (I always forget how much I love sketching until I get back into it!) and thought I’d give you a sneak peek. The finished color illustrations will be–oh no, hold on. I’m gonna make you wait until next week’s announcement for that. 😉 Come back next Saturday!
The pencil sketches:
And all inked in, ready for color:
The woman was so thin there couldn’t have been room inside for her soul. She was embedded into the stained mattress and wore a thin nightdress soaked through with sweat. I blushed for her: she might as well have been naked, all the good that garment did her.
“Mama.” Albert took off his hat and kissed her cheek. “It’s me.”
She took a deep breath, though the air seemed to grate against her tongue. “More.”
“I didn’t bring any, Mama.”
“Then, why’d you come?” She turned her face away from us all and looked out the streaked window.
Life’s most deafening moments are the quiet ones.
A smile tried to form on one side of her lips, more hungry than happy. It shook her skin, fell back into her mouth, and she swallowed it.
An excerpt from my current WIP and a song it inspired:
“We neared the edge of the forest and Father frowned toward the house, which drooped and sagged from the tug of the earth. My brothers had left it unattended and unpolished, all of its secrets exposed to the sun though they were designed for nothing but shadow. He glanced at Albert, who trudged along in tall grasses, his view of the house obscured.
Father slowed his gait and started to sing:
Below the floor.
Hide just like
You’ve done before.
But ever near.
He repeated the verses until Albert learned the words and joined in. Ribbons of song, the edges sharp and black, cut through the air and touched the roof of the house. When the music landed, it melted and ran, burnishing charred slate shingles to gleaming copper as it dripped down.”
Antlers dangled from the sides of the hood he wore and dried out hooves clanged together with hollow whispers at his elbows. Rabbits with broken necks hung from his belt alongside birds with broken wings. Broken spirits filled his pockets. At least that day we would only be hunting animals. He wore something entirely different when he hunted man.