Ava's Paper Brain

Most mornings I sit down with my coffee and write. This has been going on for a while now, nearly two years. Even on weekends and holidays, and days when I should be doing other things, here I am.

I used to steal the time from my illustration career, but bit-by-bit I am peeling off the trappings of a life that never really suited me. Gradually writing has moved from "the other woman" in my life to the main squeeze.

You want to hear something kind of funny? Or it might only be funny to me - but I'll share it anyway. I don't have an inner voice, or the inner monologue a lot of other people complain about. I used to, I understand how annoying it is. I think an incident five years ago with a venomous South American caterpillar where I received a whopping dose of neurotoxins finally took it right out of my head. As a result I don't often think things like, "I should go back to making art. All the years, money, and skill invested in that, just wasted."

But a few weeks ago I was kind of thinking that. I wasn't happy with what I had written that day and a little self-doubt crept in. And then my e-mail program dinged that I had a new mail on my art business e-mail. Okay, here's the part I find a little funny: It was an e-mail informing me that publication of the last major job I completed as an illustrator had been canceled.

A few days later I signed the termination agreement and accepted publication rights of 79 pieces of art I'd created for a tarot deck. I almost died while I was working on that deck. It stressed me out and piled on my already fragile health, and by the end of it I knew I was done being an illustrator. When the final piece was turned in, I was elated. I was free.

There it was one more time while I was feeling unsure of myself, a final reminder not to come back.

Message received.