New Doodles and Reflections 🎉

I felt like doodling some teapots yesterday, and then I sat down and wrote a few reflections that fell out of my head in essay form on the theme. Just fun to share. 🌞

For a few years, I bought a lot of tea kettles. I wasn’t starting a collection; I was gifting them.

If you had invited me to your wedding or to your housewarming party or to a similar occasion in that stretch of time you likely received one of these beauties wrapped in a roll of polka-dot or confetti-print paper. I bought them one at a time, brand new, and with the individual receiver(s) in mind. They were, in that way, personalized.

Sometimes, I picked enamel ones with a spate of blue, green, or red geometric designs or tiny, hearty yellow flowers across the belly; other times, I picked a plain kettle of shiny russet or a penny color; or a glass or porcelain teapot. It depended on the store’s stock and sometimes on my mood or the color combos that seemed to match the friend or cousin or coworker I was shopping for. Some of the kettles came in printed cardboard boxes and some did not. Regardless, I hand-selected and filled-in a personalized message for each kettle.

I always added a box or two of the sachets filled with pocket-square sized, often-flavored tea (orange pekoe, black tea, green tea with mint, English breakfast tea, lemon or another fruity flavor with fun, often alliterative product names) to go along with the gift so that it was immediately useful, immediately (I hoped) a part of the recipient’s daily life.

In my enthusiasm to gift, I could have planned better. Thinking back on it now, I guess I could have/should have asked if they even liked tea. I could have just gone with something on a registry, to ensure they didn’t get doubles and have to return it. I didn’t know if any of my recipients already had kettles. I loved tea, still do, and what I wanted to gift most was what I loved most: the ritual of starting with something basic and elemental and fortifying—water that would also become some steam, herbs—and within just a small amount of time (usually less than 5 minutes) a whole experience: a break, or a companion for the morning, or afternoon, or evening when sleep was futile, was created. Over and over, this comforting surety of rest and fortification.

Most tea is made now (mine included) in a small microwave that gives a tiny chirrup of beeps and then stops. Sometimes, I wait with my eager spoon a few feet from the muted window as my mug spins and spins inside the machine, and sometimes I use that time to fish through my many boxes to find the flavor of the day. It never gets old—selecting the flavor.

I don’t have a kettle at the moment and haven’t gifted anybody one in years, but I still love everything about these simple beauties: their hollowness and their heft; their handle like a purse a great aunt handmade for me when I was a kid that lifts up or can be tucked back, out of sight when not in use; the elephant-trunk curve of the little spout; the dainty lid with its knob that makes an easy lift-and-remove or fit-into-the-groove possible.  They do not require an app to operate; they run on the thought to use them, time, and patience.

Those minutes waiting for the water to bubble are a handbrake—Slow it down, down, and down again. The additional moments of the sachet simmering fragrance also speaks a similar language—Don’t leap ten steps ahead; be here. 

One day soon, I may likely find the perfect one to gift myself. But even if that time is a ways off, there is the ritual of the cup, the water turned to curlicue steam, the flavor. There is the everyday transformation to stillness and reflection: much like words, available for combination, creation, consumption, and recreation. A small part of the day, but one that betters in its own steadfastness, in its own pleasing way. 

Purple gel pen, colored pencils.

Some kettle practice. 😉

My first kettle that somehow ended up in proportions looking rather like a genie lamp! 🤣

Home Phone ☎️: An Illustrated CNF Piece

“Home Phone”

You probably remember the first phones in your life, too.

My grandma had a black lacquer rotary telephone on her desk in her living room for the first 23 years of my life. It was a beauty. The sound and the little spin, as one disk moved back and then surged forward before fitting back into place again whenever a number was called, were delights. This phone was short and shiny and, as my parents reminded me when I was nursery-school little, not a toy and not to be used unless an adult said it was okay and gave us a number to use. Otherwise, hands off.

My parents also had a rotary phone at home. It was wall-mounted in the kitchen. It was also tan, which is not nearly as glam as black lacquer. It made the same delightful sounds, though.

When I was in middle school, I got my own white and gray plastic phone for Christmas (heavy as a brick and with push buttons and a little antenna, so you knew it was fancy pants), but it was still on the home landline. Both phones rang when any incoming call arrived. I wouldn’t have my own line and number until college; my first cell phone a few years after that.

Whether you curled the rotary phone’s cord around your arm like a bracelet (its own sense memory that will never vanish) or used the push-button phone, there weren’t special plans or phone cards like today, so we were reminded repeatedly that unless it was a local number (read: free) we weren’t to dillydally. We didn’t spend a ton of time on the phone, anyway, because all a phone did was make voice calls then.

This morning, when my cell-phone rang (unrecognized number, no pick-up), I decided to draw from memory Grandma’s beautiful rotary phone. I surprised myself by forgetting that, unlike a clock dial, there wasn’t an 11 or a 12 (duh; I’m not sure why my brain thought that), but I’d already inked it in that way, so I turned to a fresh page.

Then, while penciling in the numerals a second time, I flashed back to the alphabet above some of the numbers. That’s right! I found some great reference shots online (I should have started there—you live, you learn), and drawing #2 was off and running!

Some surprising things I relearned:

*They literally wrote Operator alongside the O on the dial. No subtlety here.

*There was that little metallic clicky thing (like a game-show wheel spinner) on the bottom-right-hand side of the dial.

*Drawing even circles is unexpectedly, legitimately hard. I pencil drew and redrew the three circles involved in the rotary at least twelve times. Ironically, I almost bought a compass last week.

* There was no Q on the rotary dial. None! I triple checked that on a half-dozen phone photos online. (Yes, I used a phone to find photos of phones. I am just that meta. 😊) Why no Q? The Q gets no love. Sorry, dear Q. You have a buddy, though: Z wasn’t there either. Wild! All of my formative years I used phones without these consonants and never once gave it a thought. While there are plenty of online theories about these omissions, my favorite one says that Q and Z were left behind because they resembled 0 and 2 too much. Hmmm, not so much, but an interesting theory, right?

*Memory put the numerals starting at the top and running right to left, like a clock, but the zero was on the bottom right-hand and the numerals ran down the left-hand side.

Some things, though, you never forget:

*Getting your first calls where someone specifically asked for you. A sibling or parent had to put down the receiver and walk into another room to get you (often hollering down hallways or running outside so that the other person got to hear a banging screen door and more yelling while waiting), sometimes knowing but more often not knowing who was on the other end of the line. Much shuffling and nervous hem-hawing ensued for both parties.

*Everyone overhearing your one-sided conversations, so you kept them a bit circumspect: “No way. When? Where? I’ll ask. No, I can’t. Next week? Maybe. I’ll see. He said what? She did what? Who said?”

*The sound of my grandmother’s warm tone on the other end of the line that I haven’t heard since 2000.

*The pleasing heft of the receiver.

*The satisfying little clunk hanging up. Much as I love my cell phone, especially after upgrading to a smart phone that has an app for everything under the sun, pressing the little red button does not give the same emotional zest as a rotary gave. You could guess a roommate’s, sibling’s, or friend’s mood by the way they either gently or frustratingly returned the receiver to the cradle.

In case you ever wondered: yes, you can still buy a rotary phone. In just about any color you’d prefer, from olive green to lemon yellow to vibrant orange. People sell both authentic ones and brand-new replicas online. While the era of the home phone has gone the way of the dodo, these beautiful objects—whether used for their original purpose or as cool time capsules for a shelf—are fairly affordable. Many that I saw were in the $40-70 range (but some go over $200 for the more-coveted colors, like red and bubblegum pink).

I wonder if my nieces, who are growing up always knowing a cell phone, will want one once they are on their own in a few years. I kind of hope so; I’d probably even gift them one for the fun of it. I’d like to call them and have them hear my voice in the same way I used to hear the voices of my relatives and friends. Through an object that only did one thing, but gave many layers of meaning and feeling.  

“Interior/Exterior: Reflections on Drawing a Scene” 🖼️

Happy March! I had so much fun writing a fresh flash essay about my doodle last month that I decided to create another one to share. 🤗

“Interior/Exterior: Reflections on Drawing a Scene”

I almost wrote this reflection yesterday afternoon, but I was hungry and promised myself that after eating I’d get right to it.  And then, I just needed to pay a bill quickly and I’d sit right down and write. And then, I remembered a time-sensitive email, and then…well, you know the rest.

Yesterday’s writing didn’t happen.  

Alas, I had the “perfect” hook pop into my head yesterday, but tonight is no longer yesterday. So, scrap that. My tone today is different, and my hook has evaporated like a cartoon bubble. So be it. This reflection won’t be about whatever that would have been, and that’s okay, too.

Earlier this week, I also promised myself some time to doodle during a break, and I did follow through on that intention. I decided to try to draw a scene—a whole interior SCENE!—which I haven’t attempted since…probably middle school. Yeah, it’s been a hot minute.

I usually doodle one thing at a time, or parts of a scene, or words/phrases paired with a mini doodle or two, but to fill a whole sheet with myriad elements kept my brain and my hand hopping.

I put on some music, broke out a coffee-table book filled with gorgeous photos, picked the one that called to me most as a reference photo that I then adjusted as I went.

I started my scene on a scrap piece of newsprint paper I bought online this summer in a jumbo, 500-sheet package.

There’s something about knowing that I’m not going to save the first drawing because it’s on the kind of paper that tears when an eraser hits it that frees up my creativity. Nobody will ever see this first sketch so, who cares? Onward!

Without contemplation first, hand motions of pencil on paper are often quite soothing.

I try to get that way about more things: that not skipping ahead to envision outcome. Sometimes, my creative process lands, and I don’t stop to examine or even to think about forming whatever I’m creating until I have a draft or five. Those are the best days.

More often, though, my mind loves nothing more than just to keep skipping ahead. Ahead, ahead, ahead!

I’m certainly not the only creative to find my process varies like this. Depending on my day, my mood, how tired I am, how hungry I am, fill-in-the-factor-here, the challenge of crafting something is either easier than imagined, or more frustrating than imagined, or (most frequently for me) somewhere in-between, but it’s rarely the same type of journey more than once.

Each piece needs something different of us, like every friend, like every life circumstance.

My original sketchbook scan in all of its uncropped glory, spirals and all.🤗

So, my interior scene (which I also drew in pencil first, free-hand, on the sketchpad page and then traced with felt-tipped marker and pops of color from watercolor pencils) has some walls that are certainly not architecturally sound, a baseboard that shouldn’t look like it’s cutting through one of the plant’s fronds, some picture frames that are crooked despite practicing perspective, and a chair that I’m pretty sure doesn’t even resemble a chair.

On the other hand, I got the happiest kick while drawing the arched doorway between the rooms that reminded me of more than one friend’s home, and drawing the little locks on the big bay window, and then having a light-bulb moment about adding in a pop of life-giving green on the plants, and attempting some splash of light across the floors, and making the one rug a sisal rug with squiggle motions, and then drawing lines for wooden floors, my favorite flooring—all, nothing but joy and in the flow. 

The floors!

The wooden floors. That’s right—I was going to write something about those yesterday.

There was also originally going to be something about the lemonade I tried recently and loved. But today’s reflection needed to be the way it turned out here—about the challenges (for me, anyway) of drawing whole scenes in scale and with perspective but doing it anyway, and something about the comfort of putting elements together that make an interior that becomes exterior, which is also, pretty much, what we do when we create, whether it’s a conversation, a painting, a poem, a dance, or a birthday party. So be it.

On the balance, not bad for a cozy interior. Not great or professional, but not shabby, either.  Onward!

Inspiration Station: Quote ✍️

I love me some motivational quotes, particularly if they have an artistic theme. This morning, I ran into this new-to-me quote by Impressionist painter Camille Pissarro.

While Pissarro’s focus is drawing, I think it applies equally well to writing, photography, and many other arts. Ahh, that magical moment when we realize we’ve created “‘something in its true character.’” Priceless!

Couldn’t resist sharing.

"Take a Break" Word-Art Doodle ✍️

I haven’t shared one of my doodles in a while, and this rushed season seemed like the perfect time to post this one.

Whether it’s a fifteen-minute tea or coffee break; an hour with a book; a week off from work; or an afternoon of baking, or streaming movies, or catching a nap, or writing, I hope you also put a thing (or ten) on pause to savor a little break. You deserve it!

Here’s my initial doodle (using pencil and fine-line black pen) from my sketch pad. Yep, I also used crayons on this one. You’ll notice some pencil marks here and there that I didn’t erase well enough (oopsy!) and that the curve of my T and my second line’s k got some extra ink that was inadvertent. Handmade things are perfectly imperfect this way. 😁

Then, I scanned the initial doodle, cropped it, and experimented with adding filters for the background and the doodle itself.

Art & Interview in Bait/Switch 🥳

A true delight to get to participate in Bait/Switch, an innovative, inspiring “call and response art publication” where creatives are given a piece of art as a prompt to then create a new piece of art.

I had the best time creating my cyanotype, “On the Move,” and had a blast talking art, letter-writing, and more with multitalented editor and executive director Lu Valena. Check out the latest/fall 2022 issue for the work of wonderful creatives here: clickety.

Extra props and a very special shout-out to powerhouse of art and dear friend Christine Tierney. Many thanks for your encouragement to submit to Bait/Switch and for the marvelous poetry and life conversations. Such a joy to be publication twins with you, and kudos on your group show! 🥳Check out Christine’s gorgeous collage art and interview in the issue as well as her fabulous poetry book, chicken+lowercase=fleur .

To continued artistic inspiration!

New Month, New Projects Popping ⏲️

Hello, September!

I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately: how we organize it, how we anticipate or dread it, how we save it through the things we make and the things we share, how it is ever-malleable—both jet-speed propulsion and gelatin slow and everything in-between.

So, I made this thematic pen-and-ink drawing. Writing the interconnected and interrupted “ticks” was relaxing. There’s something very meditative about making something by hand, even something imperfect, as this doodle most certainly is. 😁

Also, my new class about writing historical fiction and time-travel stories, Leaping Worlds, is accepting registrations and will start Friday, September 30th. Can’t wait! Clicky above for more deets. I’d love to work with you and a friend. 📝

New Month, New Word-Art Drawings ✒️

I have a penchant for doodling everyday things. Things people kind of hurry past. Things that are utilitarian but that are integral and, well, handy.

I bought these scissors before Christmas a few years ago at a discount store; they were around $3. I stood before the display for way too long, comparing and contrasting the red-and-white chevron pairs to the green-and-white chevron pairs. In the end, green won out by a slim margin. Like my ‘90s film cameras, they have a nice heft to them and are neither too clunky nor too crowded in my grip. I most often use them for cutting the little shipping label before sending away my film to be developed. Now and again, I pull them from the drawer and find a little something that just has to be trimmed for the satisfaction of using them.

I picked this daisy dress online during the first months of Covid, during quarantine. I noticed it because I wanted the happiest possible design I could find. It’s a Kelly green with white daisies with yellow centers. The last time I had a dress with daisies on it, I was 22 and getting ready to walk across a graduation platform. That dress was black-and-white checked and mostly covered with my graduation gown. This dress I put on during days when it’s gray as a crayon and raining. Or days when I want a spring in my step. Or just days where the green pops out at me as I stand before my closet. Green has always felt a color of calm strength, renewal, and hope to me. There needs to be very little reason for a daisy pattern. This is the first time I’ve drawn a hanger or the drape of this dress. I got the proportions of the sleeves a little too long, but the daisy chain on my joy’s -y was a spark of last-minute inspiration and great fun.

For more versions of these drawings, check out my Instagram page: https://www.instagram.com/writepath99/ .

Words and Doodles: A Multimedia Experiment 🌞

A little something I’m giving a whirl recently. I’ve long wanted to scan some of my sketches and make new ones that incorporated word art and simple doodles. It’s good to shake it up and try new ways of approaching ideas in art, and the process of putting pen to paper to color in is very meditative and relaxing. Here’s a recent one I made and scanned this week.

To me, next means: not perfect, but moving forward nonetheless. Next is a place of hope and discovery. Next is a no-pressure zone; it’s taking what you have and seeing what good you can make of it.

I made the first letter lowercase to show how shaky and tentative some first efforts can be, and then as we gain our strength and clarify our vision, the rest of the letters (and steps) get easier and surer. I also left the slightly askew bottom bar on the X and the slightly shorter bar across the right of the T as I’d first penciled them before tracing with my felt pen. Plus, it’s drawn by a human hand, so there’s a kind of nice authenticity to these quirks.

Next also means a contentment in each moment, because bigger things are on the horizon. The cherry blossoms matched nicely with that thought and were super relaxing to draw—I could feel myself get into a writer-like zone where time felt slowed with each blossom, petal, and branch.

Truthfully, I know I’m not at all the best or even a good sketcher. I have a long way to grow. I have a horrible time drawing figures of animals and people who look like themselves (I’m not great at drawing anything to scale), although I like drawing a caricature of myself waving on cards and in signed copies of my books sometimes. Flowers, I can sometimes do, and I’m going to give people a whirl again, maybe as silhouettes or stick outlines or in my own way, because why not? These are for the joy of making them and, perhaps, sharing some, too.

After scanning and uploading this word art, I headed off to my software to begin the computerized portion of the project. So many hues, filters, and options to be had! I’ll include a few of the transformed file options below, too.

Exciting Update: Interview😀🎊

Recently, I had the great joy to share my thoughts with multitalented author and editor Roz Morris about writing, publishing, books, persistence, a fulfilling artistic life, and so much more: clicky here to dive into the fun.

Be sure to check out Roz’s excellent books, from her riveting, prize-winning novel, Ever Rest, and the many stellar reviews it has gleaned to her wonderful craft books sure to encourage novelists on this writing path.

Also, Roz has a meaningful newsletter, insightful interviews with fellow creatives, and more at her site to motivate and to bring out the very best in your writing.