Here I'm hoping to share excerpts of my new stories, sketches for upcoming picture projects, and bits of information on my current thought process.

In my attempt to find the ONE big picture idea, I usually write a few descriptive scribbles to jostle my imagination. From those floating words, I create thumbnail sketches.

Sometimes when the stars align, I've had a good breakfast, or a girl smiled at me earlier that day, those few initial words I wrote buzz, and tell me to keep writing.

Composing a short story only helps to make the picture idea a little more tangible, and I've learned good thumbnail sketches are an invaluable step.

(Below is an excerpt from the newest story I'm producing)

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... the boy is up late, and looking out his window again. He's waiting for the rain that his grandfather promised earlier in the day, but it hasn't come. It's a chore because he can't seem to look through the reflection in the glass. So he counts what he knows should be out there;

"A couple more days until school, 5 stars above, 3 tired houses across the street, 2 moody cats in the yard, and probably his favorite pair of sneakers below on the porch. His mom had a habit of placing them outside on her way up to bed. Everything is the same as the night before."

He presses his face to the glass and spies down, hoping to catch the racecar red of his once white sneakers. He tries to open his window a little wider, but it slides back down to the same position as always. He gets up to open his door, but it creaks so offensively, he's sure he hears his father grunt from across the hall.

This is no good... don't wake Dad.

Mustering the courage to move again, the boy lets his eyes untwist and open. He's happy to discover his never ending red marker by his feet. It is huge and smelly and the boy loves the noise the top makes when he pops it off. He takes it over to a big piece of new paper and draws his favorite things... clouds.

He has notebooks and napkins and t-shirts scribbled with clouds. It's difficult for him to draw the perfect one because he feels an ideal cloud does not resemble anything else. His mom never tires of asking her boy, "Why draw ugly potatoes and wheel-less cars and bits of popcorn. And why always in red... you know your room is starting to smell; you should try opening a window."

The boy's stomach gives a groan; he's been up for a little too long tonight...

(sketches coming soon)