so it turns out that if you spend thirty-six years writing without locating a publisher who will publish you & then just saying “fuck it” and squirreling all your writings away, you create a bit of a situation.
i just went through some actual folders (not virtual ones) to find these gems from the early 90s when i was still using a typewriter because, fuck it, i am….(wait, what’s the opposite of cutting-edge?)
retro?
archaic?
luddititious?
a dinosaur?
(if i am a dinosaur i want to be a velociraptor.)
wait–you know what–i am going to circle back & say i am cutting edge. i was years ahead of the hipster typewriter trend. i am a goddamned trendsetter.
typewriters are cool.
so, in addition to my working on creating a book from select pages of my art journal self-portrait series, i am also working on putting together a collection of short stories.
short stories that i wrote, and then left to age.
i think they are well-aged at this point, and ready for harvest.
or bottling?
how would that metaphor work?
as you can see from this incoherent post, i am using all of my brain power for editing short stories & art journals while juggling four screaming minions.
meanwhile…i am almost almost so close to being done with the postcard commission & the portrait commission.
so close!
Lets go with vintage. And you can’t be a raptor. They have those short arks and how would you paint?
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with my toes.
(vintage works. .i was having trouble thinking of words which is why i resorted to making one up)
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It takes a lot of braining to make the words go.
I’m proud of you😍😙😍
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😀
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