I’m still rather nervous about breaking into my journal. I resist doing things at random. I resist even more being told to magically come up with something. When someone asks me to tell them a story, I go blank. Even if someone said “come up with a color/number/animal,” I’d stare at them dumbfounded.
Ever the cop-out, I decided to try this page, thinking it would be easy as pie:
Let me preface this by saying I only buy used books (apparently with the exception of this one). My reasons are many, but include being poor and being hard on my books. I currently have a book in my bag that’s covered in drips of soda. Oops. I am no stranger to a cracked spine, is what I’m trying to say. I like my books to be warn in and loved.
This, apparently, has dulled my ability to crack a spine. Either that, or this is one amazingly made book. Probably both. The spine -maybe- bent a little. But crack it did not.
The book, however, does now remain partially open at all times, which I’m going to consider a small success. Hopefully the spine will crack more over time. If not, I want my money back.
Since I know that’s not a proper “wreck,” I decided to take on another page. One marked “Scribble wildly, violently, with reckless abandon.” Eep! Reckless abandon? Have you met me? I need plans. Order. I draw out everything that needs “placement” before I ever begin working. *hyperventalating*
Oh, get over yourself, DK…
I plan to revisit this one on a regular basis, actually. It demands more colors, and I think it’s a rather good way for me to let go. It’s not about looking pretty; it’s about getting the willies out of you.