#creative limbo

// the process sigil — a compass, a contradiction, a map to home.

This is the sigil of Process Zine. A personal index card. A schematic. A lived philosophy.

At first glance, it’s simple: arrows, type, glyphs. But every part of this diagram holds something deeper — a system of opposites, a soft machine for navigating art, deafness, glitch, memory, and meaning.

At the centre: a dot. A node. A self. From this, four currents flow:

[ PARADOX ] — the source field. Every project, every word, every misheard caption begins here. Light vs dark. Deaf vs hearing. Analogue vs digital. Not problems to solve, but tensions to live inside.

[ ELSEWISE ] ← • → [ GLITCH LAB ] Home and work. Found and broken. A lived-in collection of objects and memory (Elsewise) meets the mechanised distortion of signal and sense (Glitch Lab). One curates decay. The other manufactures it.

[ PROCESS ZINE ] The publishing vessel. A zine, a community, a map of miscommunication. What flows in from paradox, Elsewise, and glitch emerges here as black and white pages, captioned images, stories, noise.

[ SIGNAL // NOISE ] The debut frequency. Edition zero. The first test transmission. A theme, an album, a glitchy breath in the space between signal and silence.

Making It Through Creative Limbo #creativity #patience #caretaking

January is here and I am baffled. Where is the excitement I usually feel?

I like to spend January getting excited about what’s next. I had planned on returning to my novel. Thanks to NaNoWriMo, I had developed a strong daily writing habit. My re-write of Rapunzel was going to rocket forward.

Then my husband hit a patch of ice on his mountain bike and broke his hip.

Two of the handful of drawings…

The what-to-do-now of the waiting game

My brain is still processing that the first complete draft of Joshua’s Nightmares is finished. That the little red notebook of world-building has grown into a two-hundred-and-ninety-three page behemoth. I’m still really geeking out over all that, actually. In terms of page count, it’s four times as long as the story I wrote for my Thesis Seminar at Edinboro University.

And now what? I’ve sent off…