Now the writing bug is back!

On my Fear Of Publishing The Novel: I can be washing up, making the bed, whatever, and a character will "say" something. What if the book is already published and OUT THERE? I won't ever be able to include what they said. It doesn't matter that most of the time, when this happens, I go to the book and find I've already done it! I obviously need to let go, finish it with the certainty that it's ready. I also know full well there will be many more re-writes for the editor. Heather Wardell, who IS published, was saying that, naturally, our books will always be with us, permanently in our heads. I know mine are. I still have regular interaction with characters from my first novel which I wrote years ago! It's just that I'm not sure if I want anyone else to interact yet. This blog is helping in that sense. By being OUT THERE, it's also a practice run for my novel. I would like to start a new book, already have some draft outlines in my computer. But I absolutely must complete the current one first. It's time to get back to it. I have been avoiding it for long enough. Thank you, Heather.

My dear friend, Squeakie, whom I have yet to meet face-to-face - we met online and have long phone conversations - sells his paintings from his front yard. He also has work in galleries, where they charge the usual high prices. Direct from his own home, he charges what he believes is "fair". He charges what he needs, not want he thinks he's worth, or what he thinks the customer can pay - and some of them could probably pay a lot! He is a refreshingly honorable man. His subjects are pure southern Americana, cotton-pickers, farm and coastal scenes. He often paints on wood, with a second painting on the back! Just delicious classical stuff. He is thankful that he has regular collectors, along with new customers who stop off at his place on the way to Myrtle Beach. His work sits outside, leaning against the fence, or an old car, and they sell! He is one of the few people I know who actually makes his living at art. I wish I could say the same thing. In fact, I wish I had a yard on the way to Myrtle Beach. Check out his link in the left column.

Will amost finish my new order today, the Vespa Gal in Montrose, California. I'll put a picture up tomorrow as work-in-progress. I have an idea for my next picture, which is probably a bit hokey, but I just want to do it. I'm not saying what until it's done, because it might not emerge as I imagine it.

Came across an interesting site this morning. I so like to see people at their "work" - in quotes, because you know it's not work. Michael and Marlene, of Bluebell Folk Art in Vermont, produce vintage-looking colorful wooden folk art pieces. If you've ever checked out similar antique pieces in a museum, or looked them up at 1stdibs.com - you'll know how unique they are. They are re-recreating the art of the past, and the pieces are absolutely charmng. They make other things, too, but the wooden items are what most excite me. See their link in Great Sites To Visit on the left.

That "glitch" at Etsy yesterday - the sale I couldn't identify - turned out to be one of my custom orders. It's all so new to me there that, half the time, I don't know where to look for things. Knowing where your orders are is imperative.

From my window just now, here in Brighton, I saw the first snowflakes of the season. Not much, just a tiny wafting of dandruff-like flakes, just for a minute or two, and then they were gone. How sweet. How lovely. Just wait until a few months from now; my adjectives will not be so positive.

I should be writing

It may seem odd, but I am more writer than painter. I know I have painted hundreds of pictures, sold most of them, not for vast sums, but at reasonable return, considering I hardly consider painting "work".

I've thought about this many times, painting away, knowing full well that there is a completed 400 page novel sitting in my computer waiting for its final re-write.

We call it avoidance, most writers. We do the laundry, have to wash up, must get the groceries,vacuum, dust, check one more email, color our hair, phone sister, clean the cat litter tray - all those absolutely essential things that keep us from our desks - excuses, excuses. I am not a cleanliness freak. I vacuum a couple of times a week (cat fur, mostly), dust here and there. I keep my living room tidy, make my bed every morning, wash up after most meals. All of that doesn't take long, so the writing looms. That's when I get the urge to paint.

If you think about it, painting is story-telling. For me, it's an immediate way to show what I'm thinking, where my head is. You don't have to wait for it to come out in paperback, could take years. Most of my narrative about a picture is longish. I'm telling a short, short, very short story. You remember "Mary-Alice sat on a pin. Mary-Alice stood." Well, I think that was her name. Short, very short story.

I guess I am saying, finally saying, is that I really should get back to my writing. My characters are alive and well in my head, asking "What is this woman doing? Why doesn't she just get us to an acceptable conclusion once and for all? Why aren't we OUT THERE?"

Well, I certainly don't need an analyst to tell me what's wrong. Once the book is out there, it's no longer mine. It's theirs. Yours. Not mine. Like your children going to college, leaving home. It is so hard to deal with. I survived the children's leaving, so I can survive my novel going as well. But not yet. Not quite yet.

I always have copies of my paintings.

I'll think about it some more and get back to you. I have to go back to my painting.