Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

This week (drum roll . . . . ) I finally filled my first sketchbook.  YAY!

(Okay—I had already begun another before I filled the first one up.  In fact, I had already begun several others (different sizes, different shapes, different papers—who knew buying sketchbooks could be so much fun?) but that is beside the point. I actually finished one.  Go me.)

So I know it’s not really that big of a deal to anyone else, but when I first opened that first lovely new pristine sketchbook I never really thought I would get to the end of it.  I was so hesitant to make a mark in it, and every time I finished one sketch I was scared to start another—just in case I spoiled the whole book.  (I still have issues with that but I am slowly getting used to ‘looking past’ the sketches I am not happy with.  I am also discovering all sorts of sneaky new ways of covering crappy sketches up . . . )

That nice, new pristine sketchbook isn’t quite so pristine any more.  It has a couple of torn pages, a couple of nibbled pages (although none of the girls have owned up to that yet) and a lot of wrinkly, blotched and smeared pages.  But now I find, surprisingly, I am quite fond of those wrinkles, blotches and smears. Who’da thunk?

Now please excuse me.  I have a couple of other sketchbooks to fill . . .