With the book in the second simmering stages before I give it a good sear, sprinkle with parsley then toss it to the hounds, my creativity has been flapping about in the wind as of late.
It is forever dangerous to not channel that stream of whatever keeps trying to escape out of my skull, so - while my husband was engrossed in killing kobolds and fae who are like immortal elves if the elves were even more annoying - I pulled out dusty brushes and got to work.
The first one was from Saturday as a bone chilling 15 rattled upon the windows and asked to come inside because it was a touch cold out.
My second was born from the idea of wanting to do something with the Will o' the wisp. Those little haunting balls of light get no love, what with their leading people to doom and all.
It was a lot of layers, playing with paint and texture, and dirtying up about every brush I owned.
That was my creative weekend, and with fresh snow on the ground and even more predicted to join it I fear many of my weekends shall become that way.
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