For some reason I feel very focused during the summer, and I get a lot of work done. Living alone helps, especially for someone who gets distracted easily (me). I wish it wasn’t this way, as summer feels so brief and winter seems to last forever around here. Autumn’s coming and so’s the ADD, evidence of which is the pile of books (borrowed or bought) sitting on my coffee table, the just started short story that is not going anywhere, and the three others I gave up on. Also, my kitchen is a mess. Food is the one thing I can focus on (nice Chick pea soup recipe to come).

I always forget about walking. Yesterday, I was sitting at my computer writing about a new character, not really understanding him. To tell the truth, I was forcing it, and he was turning into every other young man I’ve ever written about. The books were calling from the coffee table. Heart of Darkness moaning “Finish me! Finish me! I’m important!” The Michael Chabon book of essays laughing “I’m more fun! You aren’t forcing yourself to read me!”
“Go for a walk.”

Walking always helps, and I think I need to make it more of a priority as the season changes.


A man in a hoodie sleeps on one of the benches at the entrance to the park, and as I go down the hill I can already see the runners. In the park, the birds aren’t as frightened and neither are the squirrels. There’s a scummy pond, and I just go around it, though there’s more to the park. The pond is supposed to be where men “cruise” each other. I’ve never noticed, but I’m oblivious to that kind of thing. I wouldn’t know if someone was cruising me unless they told me they were.
I think this is where characters live. In the park. When I’m surprised at myself for writing about a certain type of person, I often forget that I’ve probably walked by that same person, and that I knew a little about them as they went by. It’s the same as dreaming. The people with faces in my dreams, real features and colors, I’ve seen them, probably.
At night the park is supposed to be dangerous, so I’m out before the sun goes down. A drunk man gets up from the ground as I step onto the grass to look at the water for a minute, he stumbles past me and  someone’s dog goes after him, barking. He’s left a fishing rod, the line like spider silk in the grass.


4 Responses

  1. Fall feels the same for me too. Spring is always inspiring, summer fleeting, come fall I’m scrambling to accomplish things, piles of sketches, all these disparate ideas I’ve come up with throughout the year. Signing up for classes, etc. Winter, my creative mind goes dormant. Wish I could “jog” it somehow, I should find a lake!

    • D- It’s comforting to hear this from another artist. Let’s try to encourage each other.

  2. Possibly related: Awkwardfamilyphotos.com. Automaticly generated. How funny.

    I dig the description. I would like more of that please.

    • Hey, thanks! I just looked at your site and saw some new drawings. I love the nurse and the boxer. Also, I saw this comic strip you did . . . the one with the junior high kids. I love it, please do more!

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