For sight

I imagine that if I read more how-to books about writing, or read any at all, I'd know more about why certain writers write, and how writing came to certain authors. I know that for me, in the beginning, before being in college and having a mentor, before filling notebooks with stories instead of class notes, before I chose to write to articulate my frustrations and confusions, before all of that I had images multiplying in my head. My parents chided me for making sound effects with my mouth as I walked ruts in the carpet, from the kitchen, to the dining room, through the den, down the hallway, over and over and over again. They'd pick me up and sit me down on the couch, or tell me to go to my room, whatever it took to make it stop. I don't know where it came from, but I do know that I was never good at staying in the lines, or shading, or coloring. I had plenty of mental images, but there was a disconnect between what I saw behind my eyes and what I could create with my unskilled hands. So, I wrote it all instead.

I'm pretty envious of the talent of the cover artist I'm working with. I have aspirations of putting his name on Amazon and everywhere else so people can back track to find him. Since I have no talent at visuals, I can't say where he currently sits among the historic greats, but he impresses me:


This is line work. This was the initial-initial image of what he would be working from. Like a skeleton. In previous discussions we had discussed what kind of organism I wanted, to use a metaphor, about how big it was, if it ate meat or plants, if it lived on land or in the water. From there he constructed a basic framework for the elements I was looking to convey, and from there we began discussing any misinterpretations of what I said and what he heard, what I didn't communicate well enough, and anything else. All of it was very humbling for me, because I was already so far out of my depth, like watching someone complete a rubix cube with their feet. 


I'm near sighted. I wake up every day to a swirling blur of fuzzy nothings. I identify with the film technique where the perspective transitions from dull to sharp. It's a lot more instantaneous for me, of course, relying solely on whether or not my glasses are on. And because of that, I assume that for people with good vision, when they wake up, from the moment they open their eyes, the world is crisp and clear. They don't squint and stare at things and rely on their other understanding or memory  to fill in the blanks. Everything just makes sense, and what they see reflects what is, accurately. It's kind of how I assume the world looks to people who can create in representational terms. That's what I thought when I saw the second image. 


I didn't know what to think when I saw this one. So I'm glad I have it to show. 

All of this has served as a nettling affirmation that I need to fix my website. I have had a great introduction recently to color and tone and shading, and peeking back at the website tools that I used almost ten years ago to put up my internet presence for contractual obligations, a lot of those things have changed as well. I am going to set aside some time to open things up and poke around. Even at the risk of scuffing up my shins and tumbling over things I couldn't have known. 

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