Your damage is not my damage, but your damage is OK

"Because... reasons."

Over the course of your life,
have you met at least one true asshole?

No, not somebody with a different opinion, who is otherwise acceptable.  I'm talking about full, Category-5 douchebaggery.

My dad would call these jokers, "clinical assholes."

Dad worked as a psychologist since before I was born, retiring from a job with the State of New York's Department of  Mental Health.   He specialized in the dual-diagnoses of mental illness with retardation.  As a state employee, it wasn't surprising that New York's "worst of the worst" were also his clients: the criminals, the violent cases.

One beautiful and uniqe snowflake went so above and beyond that Dad felt the usual diagnoses just didn't explain it well enough.  He wrote the diagnosis as: "Asshole." 

The higher-ups took issue with that."Asshole" was not a diagnosis anywhere in the DSM-III (the manual that mental health, in the 1980's, used to diagnose people.)  It was not included in the revisions, either. (...although I think it should have been.)
Dad was told it was not appropriate to diagnose a patient as a "Clinical Asshole."
"Spend 15 minutes in a room with the guy," Dad offered. "You'll see exactly what I mean."
The lead psychiatrist took his challenge, and, after 15 minutes, walked out of the room.  Dad's diagnosis stood.
Yes, friends, this means that, somewhere, in the dark, dusty record-keeping of NYS, there is one recorded case of a patient with the disorder: Asshole.

If you're laughing at this story, it's probably because you've met your share of  Clinical Assholes.*
I know I have.
There's a deeper truth to bring away from this:  Clinical Assholes happen, but they're also rare.
Yet, I am probably not alone in feeling terrified of sounding like that asshole, of being that asshole.
I over-analyze the hell out of everything I do.
Re-read, edit, revise, "sleep on it," re-visit it to make sure it still sonds good the next morning...
I claw myself up with self-criticism.

Your inner critic works overtime to make sure your conscious mind is hyper-aware of everything that could go wrong.  Please remember this.  This is my gift to you: the chances are better than good that you're not a Clinical Asshole.

Usually, when I have been criticized, the real meat of the criticism comes down to, "I have is a different viewpoint than you do."   The most often, what I see is, "Your opinion differs from mine." but, sometimes, it's closer to "You have your own damage, and your damage is not my damage."
If there's one gift the writers of the internet have given us, it's the chance at a much wider perspective. There are so many voices, all coing from different backgrounds, each with very different point of view. Often, their point of view feels like the Grand Canyon. meaning I can see the other side but I just can't get there from here.  Even at that, we're still not into Clinical Asshole territory.

A quick test:  If  you're worried about being the asshole in the room, it's a good sign that you're not being the asshole in the room.  In my experience, the people who are the most concerned with being percieved as assholes are the least likely to be the assholes. (Clinical assholes, by definition, do not care about this... it's one of their defning features.) Concen over how others react to us and our actions is the guard-rail that keeps us from falling into that canyon and being killed during the fall.

Trust yourself, come closer and share the view.
You're doing fine.

*If you've been deeply offended by this story, it's probably time to step away from the internet for today.

They can keep their cliché and coincidence...

“Those around you can have their novellas, sweet, their short stories of cliché and coincidence, occasionally spiced up with tricks of the quirky, the achingly mundane, the grotesque. A few will even cook up Greek tragedy, those born into misery, destined to die in misery. But you, my bride of quietness, you will craft nothing less than epic with your life. Out of all of them, your story will be the one to last.” 
― Marisha Pessl, Special Topics in Calamity Physics

Stop, Drop, and Roll

Getting stuck in a negative thought spiral feels like the worst thing on earth.
The day that I figured it was possible to break one of these spirals (if I could see it happening) I knew I'd gained a new and powerful tool. This is not a lofty claim that I'm a perfect, enlightened being, capable of mindfulness at all times. Some days, the demons win. Other days, I'd swear to you that they win far more often than I do, and I really suck at this... but, hopefully, I would stop myself and find a way to interrupt that thought pattern, right there.  Full stop.

Writing for the Elephant Journal, Michelle Margaret shares this piece of wisdom:
When I was in elementary school and they taught us about fire safety, the rule if your clothes caught on fire was to “stop, drop and roll.” For some reason, that slogan came into my mind recently, and I realized that it’s applicable to daily life practice, too.

When you get caught in a pattern of negativity—ill will, jealousy, anger, fear, self-hate or whatever it may be—stop.

Stop. Notice that you’ve been swept away from the present moment.

Drop. Let it go. Just as simple as that. Surrender. You don’t need to hold onto it anymore.

Roll. Life goes on. Continue on your way until you need to stop, drop and roll again.


Michelle offers us nine more great suggestions for re-aligning your spirit in her article, "How to be Free: 10 Simple, Transformative, Daily Life Practices." None of them require a lifetime of study or an advanced knowledge of Eastern Mysticism.  They're suggestions and ideas, each with the potential to become daily practice, should you find they help you.  

Sisters

St Luke, Portia. "Clever Fox." 2008. Mixed media on paper. Original available.

"Has anybody here seen Kelly?" 
~ C.W. Murphy, (Music and Lyrics) 1908.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The husband opens the Yuletide cards from that day's mail.  The envelope is the nondescript "holiday red" of every card this season... but my eyes light up and I start giggling like an 8 year old chasing a Siberian Husky in a blizzard.  Husbeast looks at me.  The eyebrow ...happens.

"It's from Cookie!" I shriek.  Yes, I'm 8 all over again.

"How do you know.?"

"I'm psychic!  I always know!"

Eyebrow grows steely.

"IT'S A FOX!!!"

19 Acts of Kindness, plus one.

Image by Google Images

Yesterday, I had the joy of sharing a great find called "the Best Drug of All," by Craig Arthur James.  This gem is a beautiful reminder of the subtle power to be found within arms reach, every day, through the simplest acts of kindness.  I love this stuff.

Let me put it in perspective:  it's so cold outside that the air feels like a thousand tiny knives stabbing into your flesh, and you know the only way to make them stop is to get someplace warm.  The commute to work can be deadly if you haven't practiced the skill of driving on slick roads.  The dark feels endless, and spring is only a promise held in the heart.  Depression kills. So, yes, I love this stuff, not only because I'm a sap and a romantic, but also because it gives me hope and a little extra faith in humanity.  "It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness." ~ Eleanor Roosevelt (att.)  

Maybe an angel knew that I needed just a little extra encouragement today, and so these 19 more ways to light that candle found their way to me.  So much joy and love!  Does the cold and dark of mid-winter bring you down, too?  Maybe you'll find a way to smile (and send ripples of happiness out to others around you!) with these 19 Peculiar Acts of Kindness by Tanya Lee Markul.  For a nice, even 20, please, for me, encourage others to do the same, and keep it going.

Remember the umbrella story from the Best Drug of All, and understand that compersion (ie: joy because of another person's joy, or sorrow over another's sorrow) is part of what ties us together as a human tribe. Why keep this precious gift to yourself?  It's not limited, it will neither wear out nor deplete with repeated use. In order to light a candle for another, one was lit for us first. Each lights the next. When enough glow together, the collective power can light and warm an entire church. I've seen it, felt it, and it's still magical to me.

It's as magical as human compassion... or two umbrellas, in the right hands, on a rainy day.  Now it's your turn. Keep it going!  

To love is to be vulnerable

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

~ C.S. Lewis

For more love, and 21 Lessons They Didn't Teach You in School, check one hell of an entertaining online creative hub, "celebrating the Art of Being Alive," Rebelle Society.

"And Shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee."

"Do not kill, do not rape, do not steal. These are principles which every man of every faith can embrace." ~Boondock Saints

Kittens, and their use in Repelling the Devil

A kitten is licking my face.


My eyes aren't open yet, but I know it's morning. I also know it's going to be a bad brain day. Hold perfectly still, don't move, don't twitch, wake up slowly, take stock of every sensation. My mind is screaming, but, apart from a snoring husband, the giant cat sleeping between us, and the tiny face-licker, nobody else is here... nothing threatening, anyway...  It's safe to move. Move slowly.

I stretch. Giant sleeping cat stretches, too, and snuggles further into me. Does he know it's a bad brain day? Can he feel, maybe smell, the chemicals that nature already released inside my skull? Is that why he's here? Not important right now. Open your eyes, dammit. Breathe deeply. You're stronger than your biochemistry. Ask yourself, “What do I have to do today?”


Not fail. Not completely fail. At Life.

The devil pulls the chair out from my drawing table and sits down. He looks pretty comfortable.

“Just here to help,” he says “You're planning out your day, and that's being productive, healthy and functional. My friend, you're trying to take control of that brain before it takes a hold of you. So, what would you say 'not fail' includes?”


Rectify all of my past wrongs, accomplish everything today that I need to accomplish, and anticipate everything that could go wrong in the future so that nothing ever will. Today. By the end of today. Yes, that's what the world would expect.


The Devil slowly lights a cigarette. “What if you fail at this, too?”


My brain shudders like it's been hit by a blast~wave, and I close my eyes. Of course I'll fail at this... but my mind is on fire, and there is no sense of reason. All I know is that I have to fix everything in the world, today, right now, and, dammit, it's just not possible.


I never want to open my eyes again.


I keep my eyes closed, but it's too late. The other fuzzballs have seen movement. They know they can play with me, and, with feline-single-mindedness, attack my face in licking and purring. Do they know it's a bad brain day? Could they tell before I opened my eyes, like I could?


They're still licking my face. I can't concentrate on anything else. This is perfect, since the Devil hates to be ignored. (Pride...) Focus on the kittens, you can do this. Nothing else really matters right now. This is pure joy. Know that even if you feel that you've failed everybody else in the entire world, you saved the lives of each of these tiny fuzzballs, and watched them grow into beautiful young cats who see you as the source of all love and safety in the world.

You. Yes, you, right now.


Gently displacing kittens, I sat up and put my feet on the floor. Lying in the muddle of the open doorway into the hall was my copy of  the Power of Now by Eckhardt Tolle.


I looked at the kittens, now jumping off of the bed and racing each other to the door. They're known for moving stuff, but it's usually hair-ties and favorite toys, not books. Besides, kittens can't read. Pure coincidence. Coinci-Dance? Synchronicity? Does it matter, if the message is good? Take what works, throw the rest out.

The Power of Now is a favorite book, but maybe I need to remind myself of the book's message; maybe read it again. I can't atone for everything in the past, nor can I possibly anticipate everything in the future. I can not possibly accomplish everything that I would, ideally, want to accomplish, in one day. I can only handle one day, and that's today, one moment at a time. I can handle Now, and, right now, that's going downstairs and making sure these little creatures have everything they need.


I'm the source of all love and safety in the world, remember? I've never failed them. They believe.


This is the power of unconditional love. While I may never completely understand the science behind it, a pile of kittens is one of the best tools in my toolbox for fighting a bad brain. A wise, kind woman told me once, “If God is love, animals are angels.”



Yes, I just repelled the Devil with the power of kittens... The anxiety and self-loathing that pulls us away from the unconditional love in the heart of the universe was sent away because, right here, right now, none of that matters. A stupid idea, if it works, isn't stupid. Holy water? I suppose, from a certain point of view, all life is mostly water. The most sacred holy water is the blood flowing through a beating heart that lives because of you and loves you completely. Purr on, little brothers and sisters. Lick my face every morning for the rest of your life. You're a gift from something greater than myself.

The Lavender Bush

An unseasonably warm afternoon in an unseasonably warm October meant that I had a perfect day for transplanting a few treasured garden plants into containers.  When gardening became much more than a hobby, I felt it was OK to openly admit it's therapy. Non-gardeners may not understand why I feel pride in a lavender bush.  Lavender is slow-growing, and can be fussy, but years of love and care allowed it to grow into the beauty it is today.

It's possible for lavender to survive, and even thrive, in a container, if cared for properly.  I'm the sort of plant geek that views this as a challenge, and the possibility of having a container of lavender growing indoors is too good to pass up.  Indoor container gardens have added cheer to many long winters up here in the Great Lakes, so I'm not a stranger to growing things in flower pots (as well as recycled plastic bottles and yogurt tubs, as needed.)   Urban gardening means making the most of what you have, and I've seen enterprising souls create truly ingenious solutions.

Part of this, though, speaks to a more urgent need:  mobility.  The modern economy has created a class of techno-gypsy, and sometimes you need to pull up stakes, without much warning.  The old tribal dreams of  a family plot of land with an herb garden or an idyllic farmstead become something that must be grasped loosely.  We do not know that "this land" will be our children's children's for ten generations to come.  It's a rare family that could guarantee it for the next five.

Yet, some ancient part of us needs to touch the earth, and to see one season follow the other.  We need to know that there is continuity so that we can have belief that life will continue.  Without that, hope looses plausibility.  We do, in fact, need to "put down roots," if only so that we can be reassured, every spring, that the blossoms will come back.  Thankfully, humanity invented clay pots, so that roots and the life they generate can be carried, moved, protected, and allowed to grow wherever it needs to.  While Mother Nature has a lot of great ideas, I really have to give some credit to human ingenuity.

Were we meant to live with the constant uncertainty of modern life any more than lavender is meant to live in a container?  A better question is can we.  The best answer I can give is, "Some can do it better than others, some break and die, but many have thrived."

200 million years of emotional life can't be denied.

Has anybody noticed it's much easier to paint when you have no desire to go near to a computer? Right now, the outside world is a scary place, and computers are windows (HA!) to the outside world. Like most mammals, I react to panic by withdrawing further into my own social unit.

Paint is comfortable and happy, and my friends know how to avoid my triggers, meaning the things that we already know will set me off. This is great for managing times of stress. Experience has taught that a great thing for times of stress is avoiding, triggers, For example, I already understand that the compulsively following the 24-hour news cycle can lead to the sort of weird, compulsive, anxiety-ridden behavior of an addict, and, frankly, there are people who are paid far more than I am for those migraines.

Knowing that this is not my problem, and understanding that it's OK to step away from the monitor, is a powerful tool for controlling stress. I love all of you. Children of Earth, please work this out. You are above my pay-grade.

The most amazing thing I have learned this week was just how significant emotion is in our thinking process, once we really analyze the brain on the meaty-bits level. The science of the brain is a favorite "geek" of mine, but I understand not everybody shares it, so let me just give a link. This article by Stephen T. Asma has given me a great deal to think about.

The animal/ emotional part of our brains is much bigger, older, and more powerful than we tend to give it credit for. Vastly.

"After you spend time with wild animals in the primal ecosystem where our big brains first grew, you have to chuckle at the reigning view of the mind as a computer" ~Stephen T. Asma 

By giving myself larger blocks of time intentionally away from the computer and the possibility of news and its constant panic, I can reduce stress. By allowing myself a larger block per day to just do what I love and paint, I increase joy. By doing both, I can give myself an immeasurable gift. I'm not sure if I can stay with it, but I am willing to keep an open mind.

The Schizophrenic who Painted Cats

Finding Louis Wain has been my "You Are Not Alone" of the week. 

Louis Wain's deeply fascinating life and resulting body of work provide a surprisingly intimate view into the perceptions of the schizophrenic mind.  Remember, he lived between 1860 and 1939, in an era when the study of psychiatry was in its infancy. However, watching the progress of his life's work is to watch the process and "degeneration" of the mind that results from this "chronic mental disorder."

His early work is remarkably realistic.  Whimsical., creative, and fun, yes, and, to a point, these are "realistic" cats... or, at least, recognizable as cats by the average child.  Since childrens' books show cats behaving as human beings, I won't say that "furry art" is strange. In addition, "Reynard the Fox" appeared in English literature in 1481, so I can't even claim that Louis Wain invented this.

Above: "Katzenklub" by Louis Wain

According to the website End of the Game, "Wain was always fascinated by cats, but when his wife was diagnosed with cancer, he started drawing them in silly situations to amuse her. His drawings grew in popularity and were featured on greeting cards and in magazines and newspapers. Life was good, that is until his wife died of said cancer and he started to lose control of his mind."

Above: "Snow" by Louis Wain

Current research shows that a schizophrenic usually doesn't truly "loose their mind" because of a specific incident.  It's a more reasonable guess that Louis' earliest symptoms begin manifesting in adolescence. According to the Mayo Clinic, "In men, schizophrenia symptoms typically start in the teens or 20s. In women, schizophrenia symptoms typically begin in the 20s or early 30s. It's uncommon for children to be diagnosed with schizophrenia and rare for those older than 45."

Put bluntly, by 45, the symptoms have become noticeable a long time ago.  These days, if you're a schizophrenic, I'd really like to hope somebody has noticed and begun to get you the help you need before age 45.  Given how much more bearable life can be with the right mix of lifestyle changes and good meds, I'd like to hope anybody with this could get help as soon as possible.  However, this was a different era, so Louis wasn't actually diagnosed until 57.   The chances that there was an "onset of his disease at 57," are highly unlikely.  Looking at the work that was created before that diagnosis, I feel it's possible, even easy, to see beginning to show that slow slide long before he was actually diagnosed.

Above: "Katzen 1" by Louis Wain
Below: Louis Wain's images as they are frequently presented in psychology text books.

This is the point where psychologists become interested, and both psychology textbooks and the internet abound with images of Louis Wain's "schizophrenic cats."  Popular history tells us that he believed he was just painting cats until the end of his life.  End of the Game's article, "Schizophrenic Cats," is a good, short read, even if I feel their understanding of schizophrenia is limited.

It's been so wonderful to look at the world that through the eyes of Louis Wain. What he left behind feels like a note from the universe telling me, "You aren't the first person to feel this way, and you won't be the last. He looked into the void and saw this.  Imagine what you can do."

“If you fear nothing, then you are not brave. You are merely too foolish to be afraid.” ― Laurell K. Hamilton (Skin Trade)

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”
– Nelson Mandela

So many exciting things are going on, and I'm really happy.  I can't express anything but gratitude to the universe, but, of course, there's always that little kernel of fear:  fear of failure, fear of looking like an idiot.  The truth is, everybody feels that, all the time.  John Wayne famously said, "Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway."

Everybody has that fear. Really, It's OK.  Anybody who has ever gone into a creative field has to wonder if they're going to look like a damned fool.  It's a common adage in the art world that to make art is to stand naked on stage.

“Until you're ready to look foolish, you'll never have the possibility of being great.” 

― Cher

When I found this article by author and inspirational speaker Danielle LaPorte, it really spoke to that inner demon.  

Then again, maybe my inner 6-year-old just needs to understand it's OK to be scared.  

Great writing by Kate Courageous: The Truth about Getting What You Want

I'm sharing this article by Kate Swoboda, (a.k.a. Kate Courageous) because I've read it several times over the last couple of days and it resonates with me more each time.  A wise woman once told me, "In this life, there are phenomenal cosmic 'yes-es' and then there is everything else. Follow those 'yes-es.'"

In my own life, I have seen this in play countless times.  When I have begun an endeavor because I was "expected" to, knowing my heart really wasn't in it, the project was naturally doomed from the start, whether that was a job as a typesetter or having somebody else's dream of a house in the suburbs.  By contrast, if I care deeply about a project, I know it and the world knows it.  The spirit catches fire.

"The truth about getting what you want is that the things that are most significant in our lives will start to enliven us even with the first step. Even the fear will be accompanied by that sense of vitality–a vitality that shows up as intrigue, or a new bad-ass attitude towards facing fear, or curiosity about facing a challenge.

"Vitality is that way. A life does not wait to begin when something is fully formed; life is happening, right here and right now, with every stage of development, and when I look around at the natural world, it seems to me nothing but sheer celebration, from acorn to root to trunk to tree."

Riding with Holda

In years past, I have always created a Yule-themed image. I know I've been threatening to draw the Krampus, but I just found this beautiful, ancient Yuletide legend: Holda, (whose name means “Merciful”) was the Teutonic (old German) goddess of winter.

In her form as the noble White Lady, Holda is beautiful and stately, with long, flowing golden hair, which shines with sunlight as she combs it. She was typically shown as a beautiful blonde wearing a shimmering gown (often white) and a magical goose-down cape (resembling the snow... shaking it makes the snowflakes fall). At Yuletide, she travels the world in a carriage and bestows good. Flying through the night sky on December 24 ("Mother Night," or "Lady Night"), Holda brings gifts and spreads joy to the good.  Remember, she also keeps track of those who have been "naughty" and "nice!"

Holda was a sky goddess riding on the wind. She is thought to be an older form of Frigg, wife of the Father God Odin; in some tales, Holda and Odin ride the sky together.

I could see having some real fun illustrating my impressions of this fascinating goddess. We'll see where this goes!

Work in progress: Autumn Fairy

Cross-posting this for anybody who has not yet visited the Portia St Luke Illustrations Facebook site. I've created a folder of images showing the progress of my new fantasy piece, "Autumn Fairy." Scanning this piece each day means my friends and fans can watch as the piece develops. If you visit the page, click "like" in order to receive updates showing each day's new scan. 

First layer paint: The preliminary graphite pencil sketch is covered in a simple wash of color. I choose a light tint of something that I know will carry well throughout the rest of the piece. 

Second layer paint: The light yellow wash is worked in a monochrome "griselle." This was a common technique of the renaissance masters. Earth tone pigments were, and are, usually less expensive than the bright mineral-pigments used to create the brighter colors. A monotone griselle was a way to define form, highlight, and shadow without dipping into the bright colors. The "griselle" could be worked in deep greens, dark browns, or even true gray (as the name suggests.) I used burnt sienna, since it complements the overall "autumn" theme of the piece.

Third layer paint: The monochrome "griselle" gets the beginnings of color. I started with a very light wash of sap green for the vegetation and light washes of violet to darken and further define the shadows.

Fourth layer paint: Continuing to work in burnt sienna, sap green and violet, darkening and further defining the form and shadows. At this point, I begin working burnt umber with a very fine brush into the details that will be the darkest. True black, like true white, occurs in the natural world only rarely, so these pigments will be added only at the very end.


All images c. Portia St. Luke 2012

  

  

Q&A: What is your Primary Medium

Right & Below: "The Morrigan"
preparatory rough pencil sketch &
first layer of color and as a finished piece
(by Portia St. Luke, 2010)

I was recently asked:
What is your primary artistic medium, and why? (You can talk about other things you work in if you want too!) I'm just asking because there seems to be a lot of photographers in [Art Group on Social Media Site] in comparison to people who work in other mediums.

I answered:
 "The best service to mankind is to become immersed in one’s True self." - Saint Bapu Ji, India

My personal process begins, always, with a rough pencil sketch. From there, if it's to be a black & white ink drawing, I proceed to that without any further media involved. If I'm trying for a full-color illo, then light, loose washes of watercolor become the first layer of color. Each progressive layer is slightly thicker, more opaque, more refined, until the last is the finest detail, touching in the hot pops of bright highlights and blackening the few truly dark spaces.  "The Morrigan," was one of the few cases where I reversed this process, working from tightest detail to the loosest.  No process is completely set in stone:  I experiment with wax colored pencils, watercolor pencils, charcoal, chalk, and even digital if the mood strikes me.

I believe that, if we are to live our own truths, as artists, we need to honor what comes best to us, regardless of whether that same medium works best for another. I am not really a photographer beyond dabbling occasionally. I think of myself as an illustrator, because that speaks to my personal truth. Sometimes I will say I'm a painter, but since there is as much drawing as painting in my process, and my style is often called "illustrative," I tend to say, "illustrator." This in no way means I do not appreciate those who have a real skill for photography. I can find artistry in ceramics, sculpture, printmaking, and even basket weaving. *(Have you seen the intricate baskets that have come out of the Japanese masters? Oh, my...)*

One more quote from Saint Bapu Ji: "The moment you realize yourself as the dreamer and the world as your own dream, you will attain salvation."

"When I stop being able to get out of bed, I know I'm depressed again."

This. What's been going on, with a few variations in the details. After all, this is her story... If I get brave enough, I'll tell my version.

Introductions are for Pikers

Introductions, to me, feel like being at a party and being asked, "So, tell me about yourself. What's your gig?" Where do you start? Artist, lover, dreamer, starry-eyed idealist, "liberal hippie socialist scum not entitled to fly the American flag," feminist, crazy bitch, Goddess-worshiper, lunatic...

If you've found Google+ by now, you may have noticed that each friend has a brief one-or-two word descriptor/ identifier under their name: "University of..." "XYZ Corporation," "SCAdian, geek, and science-fiction writer." Even "mommy and wifey," (yes, in those words) showed up, bringing me a nostalgic smile for a bygone era when women were viewed as much more simple creatures than we actually are.

The personality comes through in the writings and the art. You'll see it, and, if you keep reading, I'm pretty sure you'll learn more about me. I'd like to learn more about you, too. I'm easy to find on Google+ or Facebook... "So, tell me about yourself. What's your gig?"