superstitious--keep writing number 162

When I was 23, I was vegan and traveled in the UK for a month. It was 2001, before 9/11. Our flights were cheap but we traveled without pocket computers. We carried a small book of vegan-friendly restaurants and groceries.  I don't remember how we found places to stay. In Aberdeen, we had a room that felt like a suite in a palace. We stayed in a cramped hostel in Ireland. In Belfast,  we stayed at the home of a woman who had us sleep in separate rooms because of our perceived genders. She was perplexed almost to anger that we would not eat the eggs she gathered from the chickens that morning. But she nearly broke when my partner stirred his tea with a knife.

It's bad luck, she said.

He was untroubled by the revelation that cutlery choices could affect your future. 

I never thought of myself as particularly superstitious but I grew up catholic and my grandparents are Siciallian so, everything is relative I guess. The pageantry of my youth turned me off to organized religion but not to carrying stones or coins for luck.  I've never made declarations about the existence of ghosts but I am not going to forsake the idea that energy takes many forms and may linger.

What do I know?

I may have seemed very certain of my beliefs as a 23 year old refusing a very local chicken egg.

Isn't that what your 20s are for? Being certain and then having all your beliefs destroyed or questioned so you can rebuild in your 40's as somebody who is certain because of evidence and experience. And more aware of what they don't know.

I wanted to hear your superstitions. I wanted to know what you consider a superstition. 

This was not the original idea for October's card. 

In September, at the start of two months of an ambitious schedule, I  gave a talk from my studio for the SFCB From the Bench Series. The night before, I realized it would be cozier from my camper office. My studio was a mess. 

I usually have plenty of ideas for Keep Writing postcards, but occasionally I get stuck or ideas feel stale or I am thinking of classes I want to teach or talks I am about to give and can't focus on what I need to design a good card. The day of the talk, I was in the middle of designing a few Keep Writing postcards..

I thought it would be a good idea to plan the postcard live, during the call.

It was not.

It was fun, but there was not enough time to execute brainstorming, weeding out false hopes, and sifting a nugget of truth from the mud of ideas.  I don't remember the idea we were working with ( you can watch it unfold here).  I kept the scraps of our notes and when I could not make the collective idea work, I returned to our original list of subjects and was drawn to superstitions. And so it went.

 As a bonus,  I got to carve a two color evil eye.

While writing this, I cleaned out the cup holders of my truck and discovered a glass evil eye charm from a yard sale find from this summer.

I often think my ideas are like lightning but they are the slow burn of repetitive suggestions.

For the record, I believe in moving energy--setting intentions, carrying stones and smells and spells for protection and encouragement. I find churches overwhelming, even when they are so gaudy I want to be angry.  And I try to pay attention to the solstice, watch the sun rise and set if I can. 

I stir my tea with whatever is handy.

commit to the craft

We had our first snowfall today.

I’ve been waiting. I stayed up a little too late a few days before because of a misleading weather report. I feel like a kid, waiting, gleeful anticipation of something that brings me joy. I’m a little surprised at myself—I feared the cold when I relocated to Portland, OR after years in the gulf south. I love the warm humid Novembers. But it snowed within days of my arrival. And returned the next winter and the next. Despite protests that it “never” snows here, it clearly does. I have embraced it.

When I lived in Oakland I waited for rain in the same way but the lack of precipitation there is unsettling. Even here, I know it does not rain as much as it used to, as much as it needs to. Snog is a special kind of magic, requiring a certain tempurature and precipitation but also appears unexpectedly when it should be too warm or when the sun shines.

Another reason I was up late: I bought a new computer and have been catching up on tedious administrative tasks. My old computer was not preventing me from doing my work, but it was discouraging. The screen cracked a few months ago, creating a low vibrating glitch across 2 inches on the left and three inches across the bottom. The shaky intrusion of color made it very difficult to work until I “solved” the problem with electrical tape over the broken parts of the screen. Some days my fix wasn’t enough as the entire screen sang with excitement and flashing lights.

Then the computer shut itself down one day when I was opening files to edit.

I weighed my options and then purchased a newer computer, with screen intact.

I worked for months with the broken screen—I was in the middle of teaching two different series of classes online. I even began taping notes to myself in over the electrical tape, as if I had a thich margin on my monitor instead of a hidden secret.

My friend Brian, a writer you may remember from the exquisite corpse poem in 2020 Keep Writing, keeps notes taped around every room since his first adult apartment in Atlanta in the late 90’s. He writes in sharpie on white paper, blown up post it notes quoting songs and poems.

His notes around the house are not unique, but I appreciate the scale and his commitment. I love collecting bits of inspiration, verbal and visual. Taped to the edge of my computer.

commit to the craft.

Which might just be the theme of 2023.

The past year has been a slow grind of healing, and a slow return to the life I want. I have to assess, constantly, if I am making choices towards my goals and if these are the goals that suit me still. This might sound exhausting but I prefer the repeated check-ins, the assurance that I am on the right path.

I want to write, print postcards and create conversations.

I want to encourage you to create, to reach out to others and to stay connected. Expect more of this.

The downside of this snow is that it was wet, which means it is already melty, and can turn to ice overnight. Everything can shift so quickly. Knowing where I want to be heading helps me right my way.

Part of the Process

I was walking around the store the other night in a daze looking for a scented candle. It's been cold and I've been working at home a lot this week, at our kitchen table, because it is warm. I want a fire but I thought a scented candle would do.  There were one million candles. All different prices, few of them pleasing. I wanted to smell a forest (the next day I went to a forest, I think that is what I was actually missing),  I wandered around the candle aisle for too long, circled back, picked up some christmas candy and left. There are already aisles of tinsel and peppermint, wrapping and red and green wrapped everything. My sister has started her annual fruitcake bake. At home, our Halloween decorations are still blowing in the sudden and cold wind. It left me so tired.  

I have mixed feelings at best about gifting and the holidays.

I do love buying art for myself and my partner, sharing my art with friends, and sharing what I do with strangers.

The hardest part of my job isn't making The Thing.  I have no problem sitting down to collage. I have a long list of themes and questions for Keep Writing. I think of collage as a puzzle with infinite solutions. I love writing new classes and adjusting them to better connect with and serve my students. All of that is the easy part.

I struggle to tell people about what I do.

Maybe it doesn't seem that way because here we are, family or friends or strangers and you know what I do.  I struggle to tell the world at large in a way that interests them.  I miss opportunities to tell people who might be interested.  I get tired and burned out and delete social media. Sometimes I worry that what I'm making isn't that interesting or needed but mostly I know I am just a reluctant marketer. The best thing about being in my mid forties is being aware of my shortcomings. I am not a savvy businessperson.

I believe in the work I do. I believe we all are creative and can connect to others through making art.  I know this because of the feedback from students after every "I Can't Draw" workshop series. I know this because of the responses I receive each month for Keep Writing.  I know the work I do helps people connect with their creative self.

The past year and a half has been a year of transformation for me--some of it unwilling and the rest just trying to adapt.  I've made choices to make my business smarter, more sustainable, and maintain it as my only job.  I don't need a million followers or to tell the whole world what I am doing. I want to tell the people who are interested more about what I sell and what I teach. I invested in business coaching with friend and amazing human Bear Hebert, which has introduced me to lots of great small business owners, struggling with the same problems. 

And I told someone about what I do. 

Someone whose work I appreciate, whose work centers around questions and connection. We were chatting in a social media DM and I did it, I said: here is a thing I do that I think you would like.  

She offered gracious words and I remembered again that there are people who are interested in what I do.

Sound like a pep talk? Yes. It is. I needed one. Social media can be good for some things but it is fast paced and all consuming. I can't and refuse to keep up. Some days I get tired of talking about things I sell because I don't want to add to the noise. But I love connecting with you.

I am about to offer lots of information about my holiday offerings. If you are interested, awesome, let's work together. If you are here for the stories and long inner monologues, hi, welcome to this corner of my brain. If you are not, no problem, there will be reels of Mr. Peabody looking watery eyed and adventurous for you too. 

If you don't want to hear about creativity, postcards, waterfalls or a chihuahua, I am surprised you are still here.

I'm not participating in any markets this holiday season so I made a gift guide of my offerings.

The Custom Collage Machine is back.  There are Keep Writing gift subscriptions sent with gift announcement cards and I have a new body of collage work available as fine art prints. Eulalia #4 is on its way, a few months after I told wholesalers about it.  Fitting as it is a zine all about things I have lost and gained post-concussion.

I'm going to share more about these for the next few weeks, and then I will take a break.

If you love this and know someone who might want to read ramblings like this, or might want a monthly postcard, a collage print or hear more about creative practice classes,  please this forward to them.

Then take a break too. Enjoy the people you love, cozying up, warm drinks and the good things we have.

The Cost of American Convenience

For Keep Writing number 161, Antero Garcia and Alix Dick brought an idea to me. A researcher at Stanford University (and longtime subscriber to the Keep Writing project) and a filmmaker, they collaborated on text for this card, and sent their ideas to me. The invoice idea was all theirs. Their project combines historic letterpress aesthetic and important modern questions. The cost of living in America, especially as an immigrant, is a foil to the Land of the Free narrative.

I loved their idea, and I especially love new ideas for Keep Writing. It is refreshing to have someone else offer the question. I love this format for collecting research and hope to collaborate with other researchers in the future.

Subscribers: send in your cards!

Everyone! Subscribe to their newsletter to read more about their findings! And they are mailing postcards for free to anyone who might be interested in participating in this research!

Tools for Remembering

I bought a bike.

A brand new bicycle. After years of riding a too-tall steel frame 80’s Centurion with a Schwinn fork (dubbed the Shwinchurion only by me), given to me by a generous friend, I invested in a brand new, tiny, 3 speed with panniers and a custom made front bag. My friend gave me The Schwinchurion after I had a bike stolen. It was too small for him, and though he had tried to make adjustments, it never really fit him. Or so he said. It a little too tall for me but once I changed the handlebars and seat, it was smooth and fast, and fit ll except that I could not stand straight up over it. I brought it to the west coast, rode it all around the Bay Area, packed it back to Louisiana. I knew I needed a smaller bike, but we had made it work. And then my friend died. Suddenly and tragically. I had not seen him in years. I could not lose another connection to him. So I rode the too-tall bike until my hips ached from standing askew at stoplights.

After bringing it on the back of my camper to Portland I finally decided to find a better-fitting bike. I tried trying a few different frames and found something workable. It sat for 9 months until Adam transferred the parts from the too-tall frame onto the new-to-me frame. The old parts did not fit on the newish frame. The brakes didnt quite reach the rims at the best angle and the rear cassette needed replacing but I kept riding it, stubbornly, slipping out of gear, braking slowly down hills and eventually walking it more often than riding it. I rode my dead friend’s bike to pieces and then tried to move the pieces onto another ill-fitting frame., riding that into disrepair.

Once, many years ago, I attended a community bike shop conference. At the host shop, we chose bikes to borrow for the week, fixing them up from the shop’s collection. I chose a single speed bike with a coaster brake. I felt self-conscious, as if everyone would judge my mechanical skills on this bike. I hastily worked and decided it was good enough. I rode up a mountain with the group, the bike in such disrepair that I had to pedal downhill. Finally, out in the desert, a friend offered to take a look and realized I’d been riding with a malfunctioning brake . I am stubborn and proud.

Finally, this spring, I accepted that if I had a better functioning bike, I could depend on e more often for transportation. I was driving less after an injury but also preferred riding. I knew it would not stress me the way driving does, and I knew it made me feel better. I researched new bicycles. I asked a million questions at the shop. I debated. I test rode two different bikes, confirming my choice.

Nothing brings a dead friend back. Nothing reverses history or aging or and some injuries stay with us. I gave up the bike that won’t bring my friend back. I felt like a traitor buying a new bike. Physical objects remind us of our lost loved ones but objects are just vessels for the memories, for the love. I bought a new bike because what I remember about my friend is his generosity, his kindness, biking with him and shouting at cars, riding to the swamp. And it doesn’t matter which bike I’m riding when I remember that.

a place to work

from my may 2022 newsletter, originally subtitled “creative spaces on the road”

I made it to California. For a week I slept, walked, ate and generally avoided any kind of to-do list. I collaged on the deck in the morning and folded Keep Writing cards on a clipboard on my lap. Then I discovered a desk in the bookcase in my room. 

I am staying with friends in Oakland who are allowing me to take over their spare/living room.  I brought lots of projects with me but when I arrived I rested.  Until I discovered the desk. I am a person who likes routine. I have a morning routine, ever changing with seasons and need, but generally the same:

Wake. Move. Drink tea. Write. 

Allow time to clear away the night thoughts and welcome the day.

I recently tried writing morning pages. I gave away my copy of the Artist's' Way years ago to someone whose name I've forgotten.  But I've been trying to return to writing regularly and this seemed like a thing writers do. For a month I woke and filled three pages with thoughts. Dreams, tangents, frustrations.  I persisted. But instead of clearing my mind, it stirred up my anxiety,  So I stopped. A month later, I realized that the observation-a-day journal I've been keeping has become a brief bit of poetry.  

Which is to say there are many methods to focus creativity. Different people may need different ways to work at any time. Your creative approach may evolve. Or change all together.

This week I realized I like a desk space.  A place to hold my tools and a dedicated surface to work on.  This fold out desk is perfect, hiding my jumble of mail and collage to-go box.  And I build a little altar on top with crystals I carried with me, a piece of art I recently traded with a friend and a flower and vase borrowed from my host.  

Now my mornings here are still slow, but I sit and write and dream up new classes. I've got one coming for you but not yet. I love this little work desk but also there is this to enjoy.

ps if you like ramblings like this AND want to hear about classes as I offer them, become a member of the First of the Month Club—my monthly email newsletter!

keep writing 157--with tilted house review

Invariably, whenever I taught an introduction to letterpress class, one person was interested in printing a chapbook of their poetry with entirely handset type. I suggest 1-2 lines to start with and that usually reigns in over-ambitious projects. 

Also luckily, some people preserve against my conservative advice. And I am always glad they do.

I can't remember exactly what Cameron's idea was when he came to me at Baskerville studios in New Orleans years ago. He wanted to learn to use his tabletop press to share poetry in some form. Now he is about to release the fifth volume of  a handbound poetry and art journal complete with a letterpress printed cover.  Each edition is beautiful, committed to handmade touches and quality content.  

A few months ago I contacted Cameron to offer my printing services, as my press is speedy and built to go. I thought I could offer to print the cover for them, maybe making one step easier for them. Why do we even bother with plans and expectations anymore? Of course every step involved some problem solving as my press was fussy about longer sheets of paper, full page images and some days, everything.  Additionally, I thought it would be easier to combine this cover design with the Keep Writing postcard for May.  That always seems like a good idea until I realize it means more factors in my design.  I am still recovering from a head injury from last summer so this kind of problem solving logistics is both great exercise and a literal headache.  

testing the covers before shipment to make sure everything is in place

When I finally wrapped the 165 covers to ship to Cameron and the Tilted House group, I was relieved and excited. I never really committed to being a custom printer because I find it so stressful. But I love the results. I am so honored to be trusted with this project.

When we talked about content, themes of cups, a table, cooking, braided hair were all mentioned. Never a literal illustrator, I was reminded of something a friend once explained to me, the meaning of the portuguese word saudade. With no direct English translation, she offered the idea of cups overflowing with happiness and sadness, a longing for something gone. Not quite nostalgic. The Portuguese writer Manuel de Melo described it as

"a pleasure you suffer, an ailment you enjoy."

I don't often draw objects, but this stack of teacups was fun as I incorporated the bits the Tilted House crew offered, even learning to draw a hair braid to wrap around one cup. (side note: I've been trying lately to learn the things I've been avoiding.  Like, how to use shortcuts in Adobe Illustrator. And how to hem pants. I'm so extra appreciative of my brain lately.)

Collaborations through the mail in printing are always more cumbersome than I expect--shipping paper is expensive, I am a slow printer and an even slower designer. As I mentioned, literal illustration is not my strength. Restrictions often force creative solutions, like how to incorporate more color. I am honored to have done this. They are hand binding the copies now--order yours at tiltedhouse.org or, if you are in New Orleans, attend the release party June 10th.

bonus: here is a great article about the meaning of saudade. 

keep writing number 157 sent may 2022

a finish line, a threshhold

Two big things happened this month

Adam, my partner, the other half of @circles_and_lines_collage, father, painter and enthusiastic runner, finished the Boston Marathon in just over 4 and a half hours.  He raised over $8,000 for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and he still likes running.  I'm proud of him. Training for a marathon never seems like a fun thing to me but he found time and stayed committed and crossed the finish line almost smiling. His fundraising wraps up May 18th so there is still time to donate if you are able to help him reach the $10,000 mark. Or join us on World Collage Day to donate and celebrate.

I also am fully-self-employed again.  By choice.

Keep Writing subscribers may remember many questions about jobs and identity.  My brief time with a full-time job was complicated, of course. I had health insurance for 15 months without interruption--nearly unheard of in my adult life, a great privilege that only solidified the absurdity of healthcare being tied to employment. I had my teeth cleaned by the same dentist twice.  I paid down some debt.  I met people and made friends at time when there were still mask mandates and limits on indoor gatherings.   But I was also injured at work.   

Concussion recovery is slow but continues. 

I am very very lucky to have support from a great physical therapist, doctor and my family and friends. I have been taking mini-trips to spend time in the quiet forest and to reset my brain and habits.  One day I will have a million thoughts on daily practices that balance a productive and restful day but I am still figuring that out.  Too much computer time or driving or math can really wear me out, and cause debilitating headaches. But I have a lot of tools for coping and lessening the effects--having more control around my employment is a big one!  I am already scheming about classes, a recorded class, projects and markets. A friend referred to this as "sunny day planning"—  the optimism of what you can accomplish when you feel great versus the reality check of a rainy day, or in my case, a symptom-heavy day. Being self-employed means more freedom in making my schedule, more time for recovery, but also there are some jobs I can't do right now, possibly ever.

One of the hardest symptoms for me is a difficulty in communication. When I am tired my sentences get shorter but not necessarily more accurate, as if I am too tired for the right words. It means I can sound dismissive, grouchy, and it may be hard to understand what I am trying to say (and I don't have the patience to explain! Like being hangry!) But I have a few in-person events coming up. I am hoping that all I have learned about pacing and breaks will make for a fun day selling things zines and collage to old and new friends. 

keep writing number 156--an actual marathon

NOT A SPRINT// When Adam said he might run the Boston Marathon one day, I encouraged him because it excited him.  He rarely does things that aren't for his kid or me or his friends or work.  And he wasn't sure he could do it--especially raising enough money to be part of the Dana-Farber team. But when someone I love says they don't think they can do it, I am happy to encourage them past their self-doubt. He was already running and ran a marathon years ago. His sister and I could handle fundraising. Six months later Adam ran 26.1 miles and raised over $8,000 for cancer patient care and research for the Dana-Farber Institute in Boston. His sister, parents and son were able to cheer him on in person. I stayed home (post-concussion symptoms have made flying unappealing)  but texted him throughout the race to encourage him.  And I made these postcards.

This month's postcard honors the big plans. I was telling a friend the other day that I realize I am impulsive (or decisive depending on how you look at it) but the past nine months have made me slow down and slow down and reassess until I accept I have to take small steps towards a clear goal. On a good day, everything feels possible but I am still working on the needed equilibrium to not feel defeated on hard days. This card is for small steps and big plans. For one day at a time and the actual marathon you might be training for.

You can still donate to Adam’s fundraising through May 14!

mis/understood--Keep Writing number 152

The worst part about slightly misquoting zadie smith was re-listening to her read from Intimations, hearing the words and realizing I had slightly misquoted her in print, and it was too late.

And then I returned the book before writing down the correct words. Again.

The original is something more like "people sometimes demand change. they rarely demand art"

With apologies, here is keep writing number 154, february 2022. This month, I've included a sticker for you to use, post and share. Let's see what happens.

keep writing #151--the 100 t-shirt project

One of my favorite stories to tell is how I became friends with Abram*. I had only been in New Orleans for a few months. I was riding my bicycle to the downtown library when I was hit by a car at a stupid intersection. I was brought to the hospital by a stranger, who may have been the person who hit me, and dropped at the emergency room. Before cell phones, the hospital called my house and left a message for my roommate and visiting friend. I can’t remember why, but my friend Jamie had also called, maybe to meet for coffee or say hello. But word of my accident was passed along to him and, realizing he was the only person we knew with a car, Jamie and his best friend Abram arrived at the hospital as I was being released. I had a broken collarbone, staples in my head, and a fractured ankle. When we arrived at my house, Jamie carried a bag full of leafy greens and vitamins and Abram asked me if I wanted help walking. I stubbornly limped with my crutch to the door. After several painful minutes, Abram told me I was doing a great job but that was enough for now. He carried me up the stairs to my apartment.

Abram gave me a copy of his second book with his phone number written inside. We didn’t hang out often, but he always had encouraging words for my projects and impulsive choices. When I texted him last month to ask if I could use his second book as a prompt for Keep Writing, he was flattered and asked for a few copies. He was one of the first people to sign up for Keep Writing, back when it was a mailing list on a clipboard at the New Orleans Book Fair. The initial price was I was $1 for 2 months because I wasn’t even sure if it was an idea that would work.

I’ve appreciated Abram’s ability to talk to strangers, be forward with his opinions and to ask others good questions. He has encouraged others to write their stories, through the Neighborhood story Project and as a writing teacher at the University of New Orleans.

I do keep a running list of ideas for Keep Writing, and still sometimes when I sit down to design the card, nothing fits. This month, while pacing my house trying to make another idea work, I thought about something I had said in a text to a stranger. I was trying to sort out the shipment of something I had ordered and after having to clarify details repeatedly, I apologized and told them that I had a head injury and that I easily get confused. It is so helpful for me to preface conversations that way but also I feel some shame— like I am making things too personal and awkward. I thought about the ways we don’t say what is really happening, especially now as we deal with the mental health effects of living through a pandemic and grief and depression. There are many obstacles to clear communication. Maybe we think or process in a different way, or we don’t speak the same language or because we are grieving or tired. I want to approach conversation and interactions with more compassion.

So I borrowed Abram’s idea of writing our background thoughts on a shirt. What do you want people to know when they are speaking to you? What are you thinking about as you navigate the world? What could you share that might make communication easier? What do I need to understand as we speak?

Keep Writing 151 went in the mail November 21 2021. Im looking forward to your responses which will be shared on tumblr!

*It is also possible I met Jamie or Abram when they were selling their books by driving city to city and talking to strangers. I was in Boston then, visiting before heading to New Orleans. What long lives we live.

what I learned in college

I was 31 when I started my undergrad degree at a state school with a decent print program and a lot of equipment I wanted  to use.  I had to take a lot of required courses, including an intro to 2D design that mostly frustrated me because I didn’t understand what the teacher was attempting to demonstrate and because it was some of what I wanted to learn in college. The basics.  I dreaded that class. But I learned a few things:

1)composition and design elements are easier to understand once you start teaching them 

2)collage collage collage and

3)I have everything I need to start making art. You do too. Fancy equipment is nice and helpful and experimentation is key. But don’t let that stop you from working with what you have.

This is probably my all time best selling postcard , printed in my first days as an intern at San Francisco Center for the Book . Thanks for letting me reminisce—it reminds me how far I’ve come.

only a fool

When I designed this postcard for The Keep Writing project, I was thinking about exhaustion. The idea came before my concussion and I was getting ready to mail them out as Hurricane Ida was approaching the gulf coast. This phrase comes back to me often —“only a fool keeps running out of gas” and its original context was literal, lifted from reflections on touring as a punk bank in the early 2000’s. For me, it is a reminder of rest, to not repeat avoidable mistakes. As friends were evacuating or hunkering down, as reports of where to get gas or food or water, before and after the hurricane hit southeast Louisiana, wanted to send these out with a footnote:
*or those who can’t afford gas.

Because, let’s be honest, there is a lot we can do to simplify our lives, to slow down, to rest. But there are also plenty of situations and people who are working too many hours to take care of families, because low wage work is all they can get, because they don’t have paperwork or family support. Anyway, printing 200 of anything will make you rethink your words and examine from many view points. I used to love setting type because of that meditation on words. I appreciate the simplicity polymer plates and digital design allows me but I miss the slowing down.

routine but not boring

After a few months of feeling behind and uninspired, I wanted to make a card that could show off some of my favorite aspects of printing—the texture of lines and co-mingling of color. Here’s a secret: I know a rainbow roll is a crowd pleaser but also a sneaky way to add 2-3 colors to a print in one run. And while printing the September postcard, I was still operating at about 60% of my pre-concussive self. So I cheated a little so make a postcard that popped for you while going easy on my brain.

This card is about routine, and finding that which will steady you through a sea of uncertainty. We’ve all had a bit of that in the past 18 months, myself included. Small routines give some form to my days. Currently, I’m trying working later in the evening, giving myself some time to unwind, and sleeping in. I do miss the early mornings and the rush of ideas that come with it for me, but healing and light duty at my full time job and my body adjusts and I try to adjust with it. I’d love to know what keeps you grounded in times of change, and its always a time of change.

My Turn

What would my response be to this month’s card?

I would share my studio routine. When I arrive at my studio (or my camper office) to work, I make a cup of tea or coffee, and clean up for a bit. I put away piles, sort prints from the previous visit, sweep, organize. I’ve been doing this for years. It might seem like procrastinating but I feel like it gives me a little time to arrive in my space. And I tend to work late and leave in a hurry so it is a chance for me to re-set my space before getting to work.

Remember you can read responses I’ve received to Keep Writing postcards here and if you aren’t a subscriber, remember there are monthly and yearly options here.