… comes by way of Terri’s post on Kahlil Gibran:

“For too many centuries women have been being muses to artists. I wanted to be the muse, I wanted to be the wife of the the artist, but I was really trying to avoid the final issue — that I had to do the job myself.”
-Anais Nin

I’ll now ironically note that I’ve done no work whatsoever today. Nor yesterday. It has not been a great week for working. (Sorry Dean - I know I owe ya, it’s coming.)

And with that, I’m taking my annotated Hans Christian Anderson and going to bed, by cracky.

It’s going to take every ounce of my willpower to keep working today. Here’s why:

Complements of my sister Angela and her husband Mark! Thanks, guys!

Fixed the broken link of Sami’s image of the second page here.

(it was 2 in the morning - whaddaya want? )

A couple of pages Sami and I are working on:

…

Click to see ‘em bigger.

I try not to pass along stuff found on well-read blogs because there’s, well, obviously a good chance that you’ll have read it before (and the content goes round and round and round!), but this makes the cut:

David Byrne’s Survival Strategies For Emerging Artists

Of course, webcomics being the new zombies being the new pirates being the new monkeys, this kind of thing has been oft-discussed in other places. But the article adds to the discussion and is worth a read and a ponder.

Personally, I know it’s personal (read: rocking my world) when my favorite artists start leaving out the middle man. Both Tori and Kristin have begun to do this.

My conclusion: God Bless the Internet.

(By way of Jeffrey @ 52 Projects!)

The Winter 08 ish of Goblin Fruit is simply amazing!

I read a lot, and always have (no surprise there) but lately I’ve been trying hard to make even more time for it. I’ve had writers tell me they read at least 2 hours every day. It’s the most delightful job requirement I can think of.

I’ve been spending a little time on Aeclectic lately, which is lovely - helps me reconnect with one of my best buds, that wicked pack of cards. Also, the enabling is always a draw (pardon the pun). Behold:

• Awww, jeah:Tarot of the Pirates
• Oh, MY: not sure what to make of this one.
• Tarot of the Zodiac sounds very intriguing, though I doubt I’d be able to read with it in a zillion years.
• And because it’s irresistible: The Gummy Bear Tarot (check out them old school occultist colors!)

In other news, if you’ve ever wanted to make your own boxes, here’s your chance.

Speaking of best buds, Bee’s Christmas present arrived: John Denver’s greatest hits! Girl, you’re killin’ me over here. Thank you.

By way of Andrew at Flux: JacketWhys, a blog dedicated to the graphic design of YA book covers. (OK, so he mentioned this ages ago - I’m slow on the ‘ol uptake!)

Love this short old documentary on 60’s Greenwich Village. “Some are poets. Some, prognosticators.” (That would be me. The latter, I mean. Where my bongos at?)

There’s a new book of Brooklyn essays that’s been making the rounds on all the blogs. The back jacket copy made me think: “Though its literary history runs deep-Walt Whitman, Truman Capote, and Norman Mailer are just a few of its storied inhabitants-in recent years the borough has seen a growing concentration of bestselling novelists, memoirists, poets, and journalists. It has become what Greenwich Village once was for an earlier generation: a wellspring of inspiration and artistic expression.” And I had to conclude: yes, I’d say that’s true - and they don’t even count the comics community. And I take it for granted. And this is bad. We’re not going to be here forever, after all.

Feels like I’ve been all over the place lately. In my mind, anyway. Tonight I’m working on this story for Dean (as editor, not artist - a girl continues to dream) that’s taking me to some weird psychological places in the past. I now heartily admire those who do autobio comics and do them well. There is a true story here, but it’s more like dream logic (to borrow a phrase from Neil Gaiman), not story logic. And while the dream story is long, the comics story needs to be short. An exercise in choices, even more so than usual.

There are so many things I’d like to tell a 19-year-old me if I could. Such as, “Get your head out of your ass and open your eyes.”

I’d like to make these.

Confession: I love VH1. Always have, always will. But this just depresses me:

You may not learn much from “I Hate My 30’s,” but you’re sure to laugh at the misfortune of your friends as they’re devastated by the realization that the life they’ve imagined is but a faint and fading dream slowly escaping their reach as they sink deeper and deeper into the quicksand of real-life.

I just watched a few Act 1’s online. I can’t seem to make it any further than that. Am I supposed to nod my head in recognition? Giggle madly at the irony of it all? Am I supposed to be relating, here?

I haven’t seen television this bad in a long, long time. Someone over at 1515 Broadway oughtta go tool around the Slope for a little while.

Ah. I see it was canceled after 8 episodes. God Bless America!

And I am ready!

And now, Leland having a little too much of the bubbly:

Leland bought me a new camera. The new year shall be snap-happy.