Erin Alon Brain's Blog

You know the events, seemingly minute, that remind you, who you are as a person and that you can make a difference?  That’s what this is about.

It was Thursday evening and Arden needed dropped off downtown for dance practice. She would be performing the next day with her dance group, Momentum, at the Arts Festival. It was busy and hectic, with all the road closures and vendor setting up for the next day. Feeling claustrophobic, I decided to run to the grocery in the hour that I had, thankful to get away from the chaos.

Heading back was more of the same and I was grateful for a friend helping facilitate pick-up with Arden as I frantically searched for non-blocked off parking spaces. The entire way home, she was troubled. There was a trio of ducks that were huddled together at the park. One with a limp, another severely injured and all wanting petting.

They didn’t want petted, they wanted food.

We went home and with Joel and Cam in agreeance, we skipped the movie we were going to go see, grabbed a bin and headed back to wrangle some ducks. It went over fairly easily, much to amusement of Milestone 221 patrons and local law enforcement looking on. A cop joked with Joel, asking if he got enough ducks. Joel explaining that a couple were injured and we were going to take them to wild life rescue.

Except, it turns out that they weren’t wild ducks.

Their wings were too small for their bodies, they couldn’t fly. Or forage for food well enough to sustain themselves or defend themselves from predators. They were domesticated. Someone had raised them a short while then dumped them at the park. It turned out that they weren’t even full grown.

That night we kept them inside in a tote, feeding them watermelon. Joel stroked their heads until they fell asleep. They made the sweetest little duck snoring sounds. The next day was spent trying to research information. What they ate, how to make them more comfortable and trying to find assistance for a duck with an absolutely shredded foot.

They were always hungry, but who wouldn’t be after being abandoned? After each meal, they’d drink their fill of water, then cuddle together to nap. This went on multiple times a day, the two ducks snapping flies off the injured one. After a day in the backyard, Daisy, Woodbury and Nibbles, started getting more energy and felt at ease voicing their demands. The little, brown Rouen duck’s limp eased and he and large white Pekin got comfortable enough to hop up the steps to the door to quack for more water. At least a hundred worms and a lot of duck poop later, I was able to locate Lisa and her waterfowl rescue on Facebook.

The internet is such an amazing place!

On Saturday, after a much more challenging bout of ‘Catch the Ducks’, we drove 3 hours round trip to get them to the rescue. The owner, Lisa, was everything we could have hoped for. Caring, understanding of the fact that the three need to be together AND is able to care for them better than we could. Afterall, she meticulously picked maggots off of Daisy’s destroyed foot, took her to an aviary vet who diagnosed her with tapeworm and got the dead portion of the duck’s foot removed.

We made it back in time for a friend’s afternoon wedding. Stopping home for 15 minutes, only to throw on dressier clothes. I put my hair up in the car, convinced we were going to be late. Thankfully, I had recalled the time incorrectly from the invitation and we were actually early. The universe, giving us a serendipitous break.

If you would like to assist in helping little ducks, donations can be made via PayPal midohiowaterfowlrescue@gmail.com or Venmo @Lisa-Montgomery-98

Over the last couple weeks, I’ve started to feel weird again. Change was about to happen and I’m never ready.  It’s because Cam started back to school in person yesterday and Arden will go back in 2 weeks. It makes me reflect, like a flashback, because it’s been an entire year. A year since they last stepped foot in school and things were ‘normal’.

A whole year since the world shut  down and life got scary as shit.

At first, I was so optimistic, thinking we just had to make it through 3 weeks and I could finally take the time to learn how to drum. (I didn’t.) But instead, would wake up each morning with a pit in my stomach. New bad things were happening almost daily. Luxuries, resources and freedoms that we all took for granted were getting snatched away, seemingly overnight. There were curfews, protests and riots. Toilet paper disappeared in an instant. People hoarded supplies and the grocery shelves never looked so bare. We started wearing masks and using hand santizer like it was our job. It was shocking, the sickening speed at which people were contracting the virus and dying.

Then, just when it felt like it couldn’t get any worse, it did. I remember myself saying outloud to Joel: “At least we didn’t have to go through the pandemic while you had cancer.” And with a cruel snap of the universe’s fingers, we did. Except this time, it had spread and there was going to be weeks of radiation. I felt betrayed. The doctors had said it was gone. Realistically though, after the surgery the first time, it was still floating around in his body undetectable. Just waiting.

I’m normally a rock. I get shit done. With this news, it felt like my reality was slipping. I was sobbing so much, at one point, I actually wondered if he had died the first time and I had gone on hallucinating my life. (Joel was completely irritated by this.) It’s screws with your mind though, to see your partner, who is usually so healthy and unstoppable, completely decimated day after day while going through treatment. I’d try to keep it together while feeling utterly helpless and devastated. It was a nightmare. I was extremely thankful for everyone that helped us get through. While usually both very independent, this time, I asked for help. Friends, family, people we didn’t even know, would send cards and things to cheer up Joel. It was completely overwhelming.

In general, it’s hard to recover after you go through trauma. Sure, there are vaccines now, yet so many unknowns and people are still getting sick, albeit a slower rate. It’s challenging to know when or how to move forward. To anticipate when exactly to emerge from your cozy little burrow, like a bunny does with the Spring. It may take a couple tries, until things feel right for you. But the weather is getting warmer and I have to tell you, it feels a lot like hope.

Originally, the premise of Fun for Anyone! was a character based off an experience that Cam had. It wasn’t until October of 2020 that I realized that it was also about me. That people in my childhood had tried to eradicate everything about my personality. I shouldn’t act childish or silly. I shouldn’t have fantastical ideas or dream big. I was too short, too skinny, too quiet, too much of everything that was wrong. Later on, in my twenties, I got a similar message. I was told that I needed to be more mature, grown-up and PROFESSIONAL. I tried getting an outfit similar to a co-worker who seemed to have it together, a plain black dress and boots. My boss told me: “Erin, I don’t know how you did it. You have the same outfit, yet Laura looks professional and you…Well, you look like you’re going out to a club.”

I was always over the top without even trying. I called off work for dying my hair wrong. It was supposed to be a pinky-blond, the girl on the box looked pretty cool. But combined with my hair color; it ended up looking like the same shade as my skin tone, which was straight up creepy. I called off when I ended up with a severe head-ache from sitting in the back of debate class, not realizing I had strained my eyes and needed glasses. I got a make-over at the make-up counter and the next morning woke to my eyes being swollen almost shut from an allergic reaction. By that point, they were worn out from my antics. I was told to take Benadryl and come in. Of course, the meds did nothing and I had to help customers all day scheduling their various therapies. I needed a job to survive. What hadn’t occurred to me, was that I didn’t need to change, it just wasn’t the right job. (And that wasn’t going to happen for many years to come, without a large amount of hard work and determination.)

Which is a problem. How many of us are in the wrong job, wrong relationship, wrong life, just doing what we think we should do, instead of what our gut/intuition tells us? It wasn’t until December 2020, that I realized that the Fun for Anyone! was about ALL OF US. I was racking my brain to figure out what made this book stand apart from other books. It dawned on me that it wasn’t just about a boy liking nail polish or glitter. It’s about how harmful it is for EVERY SINGLE PERSON to be told to change aspects about themselves. (And it’s also about giving a nice middle finger to the haters.) Would there be less suicide, less addictions, less homelessness, if people felt confident enough to be themselves, without judgement?

There is a toxicity that permeates our beings as humans, the lie of being ‘perfect’, that makes us think that we have the right to scrutinize other people. As a matter of fact though, we don’t. Recently, I wrote up an exercise for middle schoolers for when I do school visits. It’s simple. Any time you feel the inclination to judge the way a person looks or what they like, stop yourself. Find something else instead, that you can genuinely compliment them on and do so. You will immediately notice a change in their face and their demeanor. Recognize that you can make a positive impact in people’s lives with a small act of kindness. Like YOURSELF. Begin to adjust your mindset, it will change your world! And just let people be who they are.

At this point, it has been a week since the Governor of Ohio made the proclamation that schools would be out for 3 weeks. Upon receiving the notification, my heart sank. It seemed scary and felt like prison. While I want everyone to be safe, this was now going to miserably encroach on the time I was able to spend creating the illustrations for my second book. I’ve worked extremely hard to be able to have this opportunity; late nights, weekends, second jobs. (Along with my husband’s hard work and dedication as well.) It may seem easy, but it takes discipline to sit and draw for several hours on end each day. To make a page of a story come alive visually.

Refereeing bickering kids was not factored into the initial equation.

As much as I was saddened by the constant barrage of devastating news, (and it definitely took a few days to process) I think I may have brought it on myself. You see, I drive my kids to and from school and there are many days where I wake up and just don’t feel like it. The chaos that ensues after stumbling out of bed, berating myself for not going to bed sooner, weighs on me heavily. I frequently wish for something to happen that will change the course of the day. That we all could just stay home and it would be easier. A snowstorm or a power outage would do.

Surprise! It’s not easier and the Corona Virus was way more than I bargained for.

There is a tv showed called “Once Upon A Time” that offers all the traditional storybook characters like Snow White and Prince Charming, but puts them in the fictional town of “Storybrooke”, under a curse and they have to lead ordinary lives. It offers flashbacks of what life was like before all this went down and most of it is intertwined with Rumpelstiltskin. If you recall from your childhood, he’s the dude that has the ability to spin straw into gold and requests your first born as payment. (Which didn’t bother me as a kid, but I’m super creeped out by as a parent.) The common theme throughout the show is that when characters are in a bind, Rumpelstiltskin miraculously appears out of thin air to offer a deal. He’s crafty and scheming and tells everyone “All magic comes with a price.”

There you have it, all my wishing brought this debacle upon us.

I can’t help but feel like there were others out there though, that wanted things differently as well.

If you ever thought:

I wish my life could slow down.

I wish I was closer with my family.

I wish I could just work from home.

I wish the traffic wasn’t so bad.

I wish I could get time to tackle the projects that are piling up around the house.

I wish I could learn a new hobby.

I wish I could homeschool my kids.

I wish extroverts could finally understand what it’s like to be an introvert.

Then maybe the universe thought we could use a hand and we got more than we bargained for because “All magic comes at a price.”

It is a tremendously difficult and frightening time; unlike anything we have experienced. I am trying to do my very best to not let the fear eat at me and instead, see it as a gift. We have been bestowed the internet, which can perform wonders by keeping us connected to find solutions. While the media does it’s best to be scary, we have the unique ability to come together and help each other. We will never get this time back, so try to use it for all your wishes. And if we are really lucky, after this disaster is over, it will forever change how we live the rest of our lives, hopefully for the better.

When I was in elementary school, on the occasional Saturday after chores, we’d  get lucky enough to go to the roller rink. It was called Nappi’s and was a completely magical place! They played the Top 40 and I could skate for hours. I felt free. I wasn’t that great at stopping though and fell down a lot (which unfortunately hasn’t changed much!) Sometimes, they would host the limbo, which is hard enough regularly, but even more challenging on skates. I was small and spry, so I could usually hang on until the end. There would be a long line of skaters speeding by, with Chubby Checker’s ‘Limbo Rock’ blaring over the speakers. It didn’t matter if you won or got out, it was all in good fun.

This past Summer, at the end of June, I put together my book packet with cover letter, story manuscript and some illustrations. It arrived to the publishing house in New York on July 2nd. I felt nervous, yet confident. The guidelines on their website stated it would take several months to be reviewed. I had thought I had done enough research to know what to expect. I meticulously searched companies that would still accept unsolicited manuscripts, which means a writer who doesn’t have an agent to represent them yet. There’s not many remaining, but I was still hopeful. Most places aren’t keen on multiple submissions to publishers, so I looked until I found one that seemed to be a perfect fit.

I hunted to find the name of the Children’s Book Editor. It wasn’t easy. I filtered through several. One had been promoted. Another had moved on and then I found the current one. I doubled checked social media sites to make sure. It wouldn’t do to just half-ass it, they want to know that effort was put in. An interview article stated that she was interested in stories about strong female characters. It felt serendipitous. I was going to pull this thing off for sure! Every day, convinced that this would the day that my notification post card will come.

By October, I called and left a voicemail with no response.

Here I am, starting out my fifth month, in limbo. This time, it’s the kind that is slow and agonizing. Participating isn’t just for fun and winning means everything. Books, blogs, online sites all told of the suffering of the wait, that perseverance was key. Waiting, as it turns out, makes me feel crazy. It’s intense.

All stories mailed in, to any publishing house, anywhere, go in a place that is referred to as ‘the slush pile’. Interns (not editors directly) work on slogging through it every day. I don’t know if my potential book is pending final approval or was denied or is still waiting to even be opened. Feeling down, I messaged an author I had met at an event at the Main Library in downtown Columbus. He seemed so successful, what was his secret? Turns out, a lot of the books that he’s written and illustrated have never been accepted to experience the light of day. I was undoubtedly appalled. His advice to me: Keep going, keep writing, keep creating.

Images & illustration copyright of Erin Alon Brain

So I set out to learn more, only to realize how little I knew. For example, it doesn’t matter how great a story is written, only if they feel like it is relevant and will sell. Obviously, they are the ones putting their money upfront, so it makes sense, but it is not comforting. I may also never get a response and at some point, I have to move on. I read that Macmillan alone, receives over 1000 manuscripts a month. A MONTH. So that puts the no-response thing into perspective, sort of.

I want so badly to make a living off of things that I’m good at. It pains me to have skills and talents that go unutilized. Instead, I assist Joel on his rehab projects for Steadfast, while simultaneously dreaming of doing book readings at children’s schools and libraries. I have taken Jacob’s advice and kept going. I have written a second story and am currently working on the illustrations and title, trying to find the right publisher. Wondering all the while, if I will be the person that gets their big break on the first book or the tenth. Until then, I’m in limbo.

Years ago, I wrote a post about Arden starting school. It held all the apprehension of a parent sending their child off into the world for the first time. Or at least that’s how I felt. Her dad lived in a good area and she would attend a great school. Even after I moved to Franklin Park, I drove her back and forth every day. She had nothing to worry about. It was just the change of it all, that I struggled with adjusting to. But this story is about her brother. To say Cam is a lot is an understatement. When I was pregnant with him, I told my belly that he would need to be rough and tumble to roll with me (as I hooked up a trailer to cart supplies and trash out of a house we were rehabbing.) He didn’t disappoint. He is extremely full of life, craziness and love.

We moved to Franklin Park shortly after Cam was born. It is a place of lovely 100 year-old homes, not far from downtown, that require massive amounts of labor. It is a work-in-progress neighborhood. In two years, a block away, the Historic Trolley Barn building will be completed in renovations including restaurants, a market, a brewery and apartments. It will bring in a vibrancy that the area needs, along with improving the schools and raising our taxes. But for now, some things are not so great and one of those things is the school we were assigned.

Cam’s birthday is at the beginning of August, he would just be turning 5. Did he need challenged or should we wait a year? If we went for it, he would end up following in a line of his sister and myself that started right at the cusp as well. We agonized over it and by the time we came to a decision, we had missed the chance to try to lottery in for a better school. But, we were on the wait list! A friend of mine had even started as a new kindergarten teacher there, so it was serendipitous, right?

A week before school started, we were 30th on the wait list for our first choice. At this point, we had to force ourselves to be optimistic. Our assigned school had multiple community partners, was beautifully remodeled and had an awesome new play area. The teacher was quite likable. We heard positive reviews. The school staff would have the kids recite a uplifting mantra in the gym every morning as a confidence boost. It was off to a good start for the 3-day week before Labor Day.

The following week declined. Cam was knocked down on the playground from behind and yelled at from a much taller classmate for wearing nail polish. Cam is not the kind of kid that gets pushed around, so it was unsettling. (The act was presumably done to draw attention away from the fact that the boy didn’t even own a uniform and was coming to school a bit unkempt. Still, it’s unacceptable behavior.) Cam loves nail polish because it’s fun and sparkly. We don’t say things to Cam, like “nail polish is just for girls” because that would be mean and we aren’t assholes. So we all supported him and showed him rock stars, actors and athletes that all are men and all wear polish. He told me it was dumb, then hung the collage up in his room.

By the middle of the 3rd week, there had been a couple more instances that didn’t even involve the polish, since it had worn off. The details are hazy, because out of the 3, only one instance was reported by the school lunchroom. The principal blamed Cam for not reporting everything to his teacher at circle time. (If only a 5 year old could be more accountable for the actions of others!) We weren’t satisfied with the school’s techniques or solutions. While their formula may work well for many students, our bright, boisterous kid was now withdrawn and reserved. It was clear that it wasn’t just him being nervous about starting school anymore.

He coincidentally got his second cold of the school year, so I researched like mad to find a solution that wasn’t $8,000+ or required a new mortgage. It was a labyrinth of stops and starts. It’s times like this where we pushed to advocate for our child, because in reality no one is about to jump in and save the day when the status quo is just fine. Fortunately, our sleepless nights paid off. We found a charter school, not far from where his sister attends. The inside of the building has not been remodeled in a while. But the classroom has cloud decorations and twinkly lights strung from the ceiling instead of florescent. There is music playing when they arrive. They can look at a book on the rug or go sit on the couch and chill before their day starts.

And now Cam’s biggest worry is the little girl who chases him around trying to give him a hug.

I had this illustration done for quite some time, drawn and painted. Instead of posting, I’ve been working on my book. Which is not a bad thing, that’s really the priority. It has been weighing heavily on me to get something written. Right when I was about to post earlier, I added in the photo and the text deleted. Of course.

Anyway, here’s what new.

When initially writing, it was easier to put everything into a notebook. I could jot additional ideas, make notes, draw arrows, cross things out. I’m old-fashioned and love paper, so this might not be the ideal route for everyone. Then, I typed it all into InDesign spreads so I could pick a font, lay it all out and see what I had. It was fun to upload an illustration and see the pages side by side. Decidedly, this wasn’t the best idea though, since I had to keep reformatting. Picture books are supposed to be 32 pages long and from that, only 28 pages are usable after title page and copyright. I planned on half of those being used for illustrations, which left me with 14. It wasn’t looking good.

The pages appeared crowded the more I typed. I inwardly cringed and decided to switch over to a Word doc so I could check the amount that I had, as only 1000-1500 words were allotted. The rules used to be a bit more flexible, but for new books that was the current guideline. I checked on the Society of Writer’s and Illustrators site, for clarification on the amount. It stated that if I wanted an editor to take my manuscript seriously, keep it at 1000. (Which obviously, I did want.) So once I finished typing and pasted it in, I crossed my fingers and hit the word count key.

The result wasn’t even close. At 2051 words, I was going to have to cut out over half of my storybook. The process lasted a couple weeks. I would read through, cut and re-write. By the time I was done, I wasn’t even sure it was good anymore. You know when you write a word and it looks weird and you begin to wonder if it’s actually a word? That’s where I was at, except more was on the line than a misspelling. The task of stripping away extraneous words was tedious and daunting. I had taken so much care to craft this story and it felt like a loss as I dissected it.

I was at a word count of 1032, when I stopped. What emerged actually looked like a picture book. It was fluid, without getting bogged down by too many details. I’m still a little sad, but excited to have gotten through all the revising. (At least until it gets picked up and they ask for inevitable changes.)

With that done, I’m back to searching for the right editor. More on that soon.

I grew up in the country, on a dirt road with a barn full of animals. My dad enjoyed collecting horses, stray dogs, a menagerie of cats and whatever other random animals he came across. I had a love/hate relationship with where we lived. On one hand, there was a magnificent backdrop of woods with a stream to explore. All that beauty inspires my work now. On the other, there was horseflies and gnats, poison ivy every Summer and So.Much.Dirt.

A lone car would kick up a dust cloud that you could see coming from a mile away. If it rained, there would be mud on the animals, on the wheelbarrow and inevitably, on us. Every day, one of our chores was to help shovel the stalls in the barn after my dad got home from work. On average, we’d have 13 horses and 6 dogs, which resulted in a manure pile as high and almost as wide as the barn. Grime was everywhere and never-ending.

My step-mom would continually have me clean and it was never good enough. Nothing was. So striving for perfection became my way of life. If I just tried a little harder or did a bit better, then she might care about me, love me, not hit me. It carried on into my adulthood. I constantly worked towards a goal and once I achieved it, I moved onto the next. The journey was not celebrated, I only focused on how I failed in other ways. I may have ran my own invitation business for 13 years, but I didn’t get invited on Oprah.

I’ve be working hard on my illustrations/collages and was thinking I was doing pretty well, until last week. I spotted a book at the library that made my self-confidence drop through the floor. ‘You Are Never Alone’ by Elin Kelsey, Artwork done by Soyeon Kim, is a completely visual, wondrous delight. The pictures are all from dioramas and are just incredible. Another book, ‘A Walk Through the Woods’ by Louise Greig and intricately hand-cut paper art was done by Helen Musselwhite, and is also completely gorgeous. How do I even compete with these books? 

Arden snapped me out of it. She gave me a pep talk that surprisingly seemed more like being reprimanded by an elderly school marm. She was so spirited, the librarian came over to make sure everything was okay. My daughter has received enough encouragement that she has an abundance to share. I don’t push for unrealistic expectations, just her best. When Cam loses his mind over drawing something he doesn’t consider perfect, I show him how to change it into something else. Markers and crayons are not forgiving, but the imagination is.

So, with my husband and my kids cheering me on, I push forward. It’s easy to get it in my head that I’m not good enough. That none of us are. That if we just try harder we could be loved, be great, have the perfect life. But a lot of time and energy can be wasted on getting it just so. It steals joy. It can be debilitating if you let it. The important thing to remember is that perfection isn’t real, it’s contrived. It’s a marketing tool to sell products. It’s behind-the-scenes manipulation. As a human person, all you can do is your very best and try to enjoy the ride.

Back in 2004 I designed and made wedding invitations for a couple I had met through wedding planning. They were both charismatic and had unique last names, so we became friends. I was fortunate to do many projects with them.  Years passed and I received a friend suggestion on FB, so I sent a request. It was accepted. It wasn’t until I received a message asking how I knew Adam (who turned out was the groom’s brother) that I realized I had made a mistake. I can’t recall if this ended up being discussed with Adam himself, but either way, we remained FB friends.

Things I noticed about Adam: He was fun and really enthusiastic. He had A LOT of friends and was well-loved. He was pretty self-confident. I’m not a fan of shirtless pics, but he seemed so pleased with himself in all of them. He led an interesting life. He took risks even when they didn’t always pan out. He was genuine and one-of-a-kind.

When Joel and I moved to Franklin Park, we discovered that Adam and his husband lived a street over. I thought it would be cool if we all had dinner, but he ended up moving away before I would step outside of my comfort zone of introverted-ness to ask. I did run into him at the grocery once, where in passing I said hello and startled him because he didn’t know who the heck I was.

Adam passed away almost two weeks ago. His mom had posted that he had a lung infection and instead of improving, he declined. Things that are shitty about this : He was so vibrant and way too young to die. He was in the hospital on his birthday and couldn’t eat cake. He’s going to miss Pride Month and he really seemed to enjoy a good parade. Most of all though, it is a complete tragedy that the world lost him. I’m still kind of in disbelief over it and he was a guy that I didn’t really know.

I went into this illustrating process a bit naive, thinking I could just sit down and knock it out. My biggest problem derived from the fact that I didn’t know what medium I would use exactly. I started out doing some basic digital color and it was okay. I can read people fairly well and they were only mildly encouraging. So I knew I had to do something different, but wasn’t exactly quite sure how to proceed. I really tend to mull things over for a bit. I ended up mentioning to a friend that I loved collage and showed her some examples along with a little watercolor I had done at a workshop. Her suggestion was to try it all together: collage, digital and watercolor. It was something I had considered, but that also equaled more work and a lengthier process. After much procrastination, I started giving it a go, with a fairly basic watercolor set.

Basic wasn’t efficient, nor cutting it vibrancy-wise. I would scan in the illustration and it appeared dull, which was pretty disheartening. I ended up painting at least 10 mock-ups of just one particular illustration, desperately attempting to get it right. Disenchanted, I started doing research on paint. Shockingly enough (to me), there was quite a bit more out there. I learned about watercolor paints that come in tubes that mix on a palette. That seemed simple enough.     It. was. not.

After combing reviews, I purchased my first set from Amazon. It arrived quickly and I was eager to get started. I had specific colors to achieve and I was gung-ho about it. I knew how to make colors! Blue and red make purple, right? So I mix and I mix and I would add white and a little black, desperately trying to achieve the particular shade I needed. I’m going to be honest with you, normally I would have been super pissed-off by now. But congratulations to me, at age 42 I have finally figured out that I’m too determined to give up and if I just keep at it, I will get it.

At this point though, I had pools of paint and I had almost gone through an entire tube of white, trying to achieve just two of the many colors I needed. It was not looking good. Online had been helpful as a starting point, but further searching enabled me to find some of the colors I wanted at a semi-local art supply store. (Too much mixing is going to make it challenging to duplicate.) Upon sharing my debacle with the store guy, he gave me a withering look of disdain that was reserved for mere peasants and fools. Word to the wise, don’t go to the art store unless you have your shit together.

So friends, I have been trying out these paints to get the hang of them. I was a little intimidated, but I’m happy to say, it’s going pretty well. The scanning still needs a bit of work, in the meantime though, I started an A-Z project to show some illustration skills and get lots of practice. I find it to be encouraging and cathartic.