Embellished Truth & Polite Fiction

As I mentioned, I have art that I am working on this week. In addition to that, I have a list of contests and literary magazines, and publishers to submit writing to. There are two upcoming art shows that I will be participating in – the black and white portrait I posted is for the first show.

I mentioned on twitter last week that I seem to have a hard time switching hats. Either I am a writer, or I make art. I have a harder time calling myself an artist than I do a writer.. I suppose since I have at least one finished novel, it’s a little easier to say ‘I am a writer’. Even if I am an unpublished writer. I suppose after this first show, I will feel more inclined to say ‘I am an artist’ as well. We shall see. (No, I don’t have confidence issues AT ALL.)

My focus tends to be narrow when creating. I am either focused on writing (plotting, drafting, editing, etc), or I am focused on art (sketching, shading, painting, experimenting, etc). But I can’t seem to switch back and forth easily between the two. When I’m doing one, the other sounds hard. So I like to stick with what I’m doing, keeping with the groove I’m in. It has been my goal, of late, to change that. I’m getting there.

I have deadlines rubbing up against each other now. This means I have to work on art and writing together. Like, on the same day and stuff. Eek! So far, so good.

Last week I finished up a submission that was due April 30th and sent it off. Then I got to work on sketching ideas for the upcoming art show – Portrait of an Artist. I have been working on those for the last week and then realized I have another story submission deadline on May 1st. Yikes! Only a few days left to edit a story for that one! And the story happens to be unfinished.

I generally write better in the morning, but I can do art pretty much any time. So I have been trying to get my writing done in the morning, saving the afternoons for art and the evenings for either editing or more art… or just hanging out with the husband.

So yeah… anyway. It’s working. Yay! I have to finish up the story today so my editor (hi, Keith!) and I can polish it up tonight and tomorrow and I can send it off on Sunday. I’m editing/finishing the series The Other Girl and submitting it to a contest. Some of you may have read that one, back in the day.

Enough boring you with details of my process.. pictures!
Here is the picture I am drawing from (this is D Ryan Allen, a local artist who drew some of my favorite coloring books! zombie coloring books!):

The outline sketch:

After the first session of adding in charcoal:

After another session, finishing filling in and adding highlights to hair and shirt:

At this point all I have left to do is some shading on the face and in the background. I do like it a lot as it is, but I think with at least a little shading in the face it will have a bit more depth. And I have a bit of time still, so if I totally screw it up I can start over. Once it is finished, I will spray it thoroughly with fixative and then mount it on a board. I’m really looking forward to seeing the finished product!

Today? I will finish drafting the short story, and finish up this picture… I hope.

Carl walked slowly back to his room. The long hallway was empty and white. It was quiet enough that all Carl could hear was the soft shuffling of his slippers on the tile floor. The pale blue hospital issued pants and tunic were rough against his skin and he wondered if it would really be too much to ask them to use a smidge less starch in their laundry. Lunch in the cafeteria, group therapy, and then more time in the recreation room had him feeling tired and socially overwhelmed. As he neared his room, Carl thought he saw a hand reaching out through the doorway. It looked like a woman’s hand, long and slender.

That’s odd.. he thought to himself. Shaking his head, he looked down at his feet as he walked the last few yards to his door. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.. Looking up as he turned into his room, he saw in front of him a woman sitting on his bed. She looked a little like Sara but with blond hair. Her clothes were soaked with blood.

Carl closed his eyes and was immediately at the car again. The woman was in the passenger seat, staring back at him with an empty gaze. She was so still he wondered if she was even alive. The air was so stifling hot that it was nauseating. All around the car was barren land. Desert land with little more than tumbleweeds and the thin black ribbon of concrete extending in two directions – a lone path to and from civilization.

Carl stepped back from the car and looked up at the sky. It looked like it was late afternoon. The sun was a ball of orange heat, like a fire in a furnace, and the sky was turning a deep orangey purple near the horizon. The heat wave was still thick and his shoes still a clean bright red.

Carl looked back into the car. The woman still had not moved. He instinctively reached out to check her pulse. When his had was a few inches from her throat, her hand suddenly shot up and grabbed hold of his wrist, her eyes widening and her mouth opening as she gasped for breath. Her hand gripped his wrist tightly and her nails dug into his flesh. Carl froze in shock. He stared at the woman, her chest rising and falling, her thin fingers wrapped around his arm.

“Carl.”

Carl blinked his eyes.

“Carl.. can you hear me?”

It was John. Carl’s heart pounded in his chest and he breathed hard. Panic attack. Damn it. Carl tried hard to focus on John’s face as he sucked the air in wheezing gasps. John was holding tightly to Carl’s wrist and there was a blade in Carl’s hand. His eyes bulged. What the hell was I doing!? Fear made his blood run cold and Carl could suddenly feel every drop of sweat on his body like a million tiny ice cubes. He shivered.

“Carl. Are you ok? You scared me..” John looked in Carl’s eyes as he talked, trying to maintain connection with him. “Can I have the blade now, Carl?”

Carl nodded and John carefully removed the blade from Carl’s grip.

“Pl.. Please… Don’t put me back in the jacket..” Carl gasped. John looked at Carl, still holding his wrist, and his brow furrowed.

“You know that’s not up to me, Carl,” he answered. “But I will see what I can do..” He released his grip on Carl who lowered himself wearily onto the bed. There was no sign on of the woman, the bed was still clean and white. No blood.

“You ok, sir?” John asked. “I was a bit worried about you there. I have no idea how you got hold of any sharp objects or what you were planning to do with it, but I sure am glad I came to change your bed when I did. I suppose we’ll have to be a bit more watchful with you.” He gave Carl a stern look and tucked the blade into his coat pocket.

Perhaps he’ll just let it slide.. maybe he won’t tell..

Carl closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, waiting patiently for his heart to stop thumping like a hammer and reverberating through his skull.