Happy Little Trees

When I was in middle school, my mom got into oil painting. While she created masterpieces, my dad would chill on the couch, and they would watch Bob Ross on PBS. (I think my dad mostly slept, but still...)

I've been working on one of my books lately. Admittedly, it's been a while since I've written much. I had other priorities. Quarantine and vacation days freed up some time. So I pulled out the last manuscript I had written with the intent of revising, and it struck me how very much writing is like painting.

At least for me.

I'm sure there are Michelangelos out there who can write the Sistine Chapel in one setting.

While this particular story is mostly finished, I still had some changes to make and layers to add. It's like having some basic shapes on a canvas and going in to pull out depth, dimension, perspective, and detail. I'm finding some "happy little trees" moments and a couple of "oops" splatters that--with the sweep a few bristles--turn into glorious brushstrokes of genius.

​Bob Ross would be proud.

---