I spent this evening updating Bowker's site with information on what I have published and what is upcoming. That's where I get ISBNs from, for my books, and by doing this my books are listed in their system for reference. I've also asked the Library of Congress about what is needed for a designation of theirs. I sort of have an idea of how to build a reference number but am not sure about its classification.
I'm amazed I got that much done. I started sinking into a black hole of self-flagellation about A65 while waiting at Boston airport and during the flight home, since none of the people in England I asked to proof it for me have gotten back to me. I managed to break out of it by grabbing a piece of scrap paper and using a ball-point pen to do a couple of studies of the face I plan to use for Adam. Not necessarily this expression but similar.
The darker one I did first and had more time with. His face wound up a bit too thin, though, and eyes too small and close, so I started on the second one and this is as far as I got before we were on approach for landing. Not great but I did them in the back of a jumpy, half-empty Embraer 190 jet, so I'm not going to snarl about them. And they did quiet the whirlpool I was sinking into.
I could blame my emotional near-collapse on eating poorly and not much sleep and a rough few days with too many fuckups, and I'm sure none of those things helped, but they're just the symptoms of my ennui. I just haven't been able to battle it back like I used to. And that doctor who looks like Charley...reality is, this crap pretty much grabbed a solid hold on me about then. Too many fucking memories got dredged up...for too many people lost in too horrible a time...
I'm still searching for a way out of it and now I'm pretty sure the only thing to do is focus on nothing but artwork, over the weekend. Get Adam, Casey and Gertrude set and ready for the cover. Get my head out of this loop of uncertainty and back into something concrete. Keep working on the bits until it all comes together and satisfies me. Even it I have to redo them a dozen times each.
Hell, that's just like my writing...rework and rework and rework...
The darker one I did first and had more time with. His face wound up a bit too thin, though, and eyes too small and close, so I started on the second one and this is as far as I got before we were on approach for landing. Not great but I did them in the back of a jumpy, half-empty Embraer 190 jet, so I'm not going to snarl about them. And they did quiet the whirlpool I was sinking into.
I could blame my emotional near-collapse on eating poorly and not much sleep and a rough few days with too many fuckups, and I'm sure none of those things helped, but they're just the symptoms of my ennui. I just haven't been able to battle it back like I used to. And that doctor who looks like Charley...reality is, this crap pretty much grabbed a solid hold on me about then. Too many fucking memories got dredged up...for too many people lost in too horrible a time...
I'm still searching for a way out of it and now I'm pretty sure the only thing to do is focus on nothing but artwork, over the weekend. Get Adam, Casey and Gertrude set and ready for the cover. Get my head out of this loop of uncertainty and back into something concrete. Keep working on the bits until it all comes together and satisfies me. Even it I have to redo them a dozen times each.
Hell, that's just like my writing...rework and rework and rework...
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