Summer Coming Down

The weather has taken on a nice Autumn chill, marking Summer’s impending finish. In memorium, a photo flashback of Summer 2017.

 

Goodbye, 2015!!

Practicing the Dark Arts (or dominoes, whatever):

Wishes for us all, of Hope and Mermaids:

…and Inspiration:

Don’t forget to share your hats. With Death Stars.

Happy New Year to you all!! I love you.

 

Saturday Nights in December

Awful Big Talk for Such a Little Thing…

From an email to a friend, and honestly how I feel about This Thing We Do…

“But what if no one ever recognizes your efforts? That’s a distinct possibility. It doesn’t make the things you do of less value, or the work you’ve done in vain. Fame and appreciation are just matters of timing and luck with sometimes-talent added, based on whatever the pop culture climate is into at the moment. Picasso was appreciated in his lifetime and Van Gogh was not. But that doesn’t make Van Gogh’s work less amazing. And there are thousands of Picassos and Van Goghs that we’ve never heard of, and just because their paintings only hang in someone’s house or the canvases are stacked in a closet somewhere, that doesn’t mean the work wasn’t worth making, or breaking themselves into pieces for. Because it’s still worth it, because we can’t help it. That’s all there is to us, making things. You’ll itch under your skin if you don’t write stories, and you’ll just take up cooking or buy a bedazzler and put sequins on things. And in a few years you’ll catch yourself with a notebook of half-scribbled stories. Because it’s just what you are. You make things. You have to shrug and accept it. Even if you give up the marketing side, and submitting side, and just do it because it’s what you do. That second part – the whore part – is really unimportant in the actual scheme of making things.

So there’s your lesson for the day. You don’t ever have to submit shit if you don’t want to, ever again. Buy a fireproof trunk and seal all your work, finished and printed and also on various types of hard drives, in the trunk. Let someone else sort it out later. Focus on making it. Or take a break and make things when you damned well feel like it. Compulsion can also be euphoria.”

First Frost

The trees are dripping orange-brown leaves, they sound like crumpled paper, and I can see the potential for winter to Not Completely Suck. Yes, I’m sick, but the fire is going and the sky is blue, blue, blue. And I have coffee and a 5 lb dog that thinks I folded the throw blanket just-like-that specifically as a bed for him, so things are okay.

I like this part, when the palettes shift. White grass and red leaves. A sparkle at the edge of the petrified leaves.

yes, I am full of purple prose this morning. Largely observational purple prose. pumpkins with witch hats cling to the windows, Cheshire Cat pajama pants, red coffee mug, quiet, schoolbus passing the window, wisps of clouds. Copper. That’s the best word to sum up the morning, to distill the rambling. Copper.

Happy November. Happy transition month. May your socks be warm and your skies blue.

 

What We Need Is More Phooootoooos….

New Sky, Blue Sky

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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