Before there was writing, there was art. I graduated early from Etch-a-Sketch and Spirograph to charcoals and ink. In first grade, my teacher Miss Lucy snatched away my coloring book because I'd decided to color outside the lines of the cherries we planned to hang on George Washington's bulletin-board tree. That way, I could bear down harder and get a richer red color before I cut out the cherries. I had plans.
Life ain't fair--that was my first lesson learned. Next was, artists are misunderstood.
Eventually, of course, words won out over pictures because I was under the sad delusion that writers earned more money than artists (not realizing that if I really wanted money I needed to color inside the lines all the way
Fast-forward a few years (well, okay, a lot of years) and you'll find me in a word-oriented day job that offered little opportunity for growth and not much outlet for creativity.
So I took up quilting. Not making bed quilts, mind you, but art quilts and wall hangings crafted of tiny pieces of fabric to form an image or tell a story. Color, pattern and texture brought me creative satisfaction. Then Hurricane Katrina hit, and my hobby kind of drowned in a morass of apathy and floodwater.
Then came publications, and contracts, and deadlines, and less opportunity to color outside the lines--stories have to fit in genres, after all. Suddenly, I had two full-time jobs. One of them, the writing, was still creative and fun, but my artistic eye began roving again.
Now, I'm back to art. I'm rusty, but armed with Photoshop CS6, a
How do you keep the creative hounds at bay in your life?