After months of feeling like my ideas were idle moths beating their wings ineffectively inside my skull, I woke up this morning with a dim sense of ideas buzzing again. It was a combination of things yesterday which seemed to do the trick. The first was a long email from the ever generous Elberry, a man steeped in ancient wisdom including the now dead art of knowing how to write long articulate emails.
There was something about getting a meaningful communication from the outside world that gave me a kickstart. I rarely get real emails in the same way that this blog rarely gets comments. I know I occasionally mention my frustration of writing to a silent (possibly absent) audience but I’ve always been a confidence player. When my confidence is high, I can write and draw prolifically. When my confidence is low then I find it hard to get out of bed in the morning. And my confidence has never been as low as it’s been after my twin failures to feature in the results of the Observer and Spectator comic/cartoon competitions.
Elberry’s letter reminded me of how much I cherish emails and contact from the outside world. It got me thinking about changing my routines and it even prompted me to tidy up my art desk. I even remembered to go and get my winter lamp from upstairs. I’ve not been using it, though this winter has been darker than most. People say these SAD lamps are placebos but if they are, they’re placebos that work for me. I’m always surprised when time sitting beside my lamp changes my mood but yesterday it filled me with new enthusiasm. Before it, I felt tired. After it, I hit Liverpool late to sort out some cabling problems I have since I moved my office to this new room. I woke today and used the lamp again and I’ve been reading the manuscript of a lowbrow humour book I wrote last year. I’m half way and though there are small things that need fixing, the meat of the book is pretty solid. It made me laugh at least twice a page and I just need to test it on some willing victims. It’s a mere 57,000 words long, which is too short if it was a novel but for the kind of humorous trifle, that’s not bad. Plus it’s illustrated with about 30 of my hand drawn pictures. A lot of work went into the book. I can’t believe I just let it sit forgotten in my work directory.
Last night I fell asleep before I could finish a drawing. I’ll try harder today. The only thing I have to post is this scribbled attempt at a gaping Farage.