Creative impulses

I’ve never identified as an artist. I don’t know that I would even call myself a writer, much less author, despite the fact that I write and edit every day, and have published a book. I always kind of hoped some talent would emerge–the ability to draw or sing–but the truth is, it never did. I can barely sketch a credible looking snowman, and that’s just three circles, one on top of the other with a carrot in the middle of the smallest circle.

But I have creative impulses. Constantly. Figuring out what to do with them often results in strange, comedic journeys that destroy the house. Usually, I forget about them. But I recently stumbled across some photos of one such project in which I stamped poems on rocks. I’m not really clear what I thought I would do with them, besides possibly sell them on Etsy to couples looking for unique wedding centerpieces or something of that nature. But they’re there nonetheless. I completed about a dozen of these poems, some of them quite long, before losing interest and turning my focus to writing Scourge of the Righteous Haddock.

Photos by Colin Rigley.






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