Coloring as Spiritual Practice

This morning the kids shared another Children's Ministry Moment in worship -- a group speech followed by passing around baskets of crayons to everyone in the pews. We also included the image below as an insert in the bulletin with the heading:

MEDITATE. CREATE. LET YOUR SPIRIT PLAY.

This Lent, we tried different spiritual practices.

[Some of the kids] taught us a body prayer that their class does in Sunday school. There's a pose for each line of the prayer.

And Kimberley showed us how to be mindful of our breathing. We breathed in God's goodness and we breathed out fear, sadness, and anger.

But our favorite spiritual practice is the one that came most naturally to us: coloring! Did you know coloring is a spiritual practice for people of all ages?

Coloring can improve focus, reduce stress and anxiety, and provide a means of self-expression beyond words. Mandalas are particularly good for meditation because symmetry and repetition center the mind and spirit.

Many Christians and people of traditions around the world design and color mandalas. Today, there's one in your bulletin for you to color during worship and take home with you.

We've got crayons for everyone, too. So go ahead and color. Not that you need it, but you have our permission!

Breaking Ground

I had a realization of my own after the goodbye-themed inter-generational Bible study I led at church the other night.

In a time of lifting up loved ones who have passed on or moved away, I named my grandfather (my eulogy for him is posted here), and I explained that I called him Grandsprout because he called me Sprout.

What I've realized since Sunday night is that no one else in the world calls me Sprout and what that means. When my grandfather's dementia deepened to the point of no longer recognizing his loved ones, we ourselves struggled to hold on to who we were to him. When he died, the me who was Sprout died, too.

It was not only the loss of a beloved person but also the end of a relationship, of all the relationships he had with his family and friends.

And at the heart of our relationship, his and mine, was growth. A love of greenery and soil and earthy things. A wisdom of seasons and perseverance and devoted care. My grandfather watched me grow up, and I watched my grandfather grow his garden. These were the joys we basked in together.

So it's only fitting that, when I finally found the language to heal myself almost two years later, it came to me in the form of plant life. Specifically, it came to me in an image that my professor, Angella Son, included in her new book, Spirituality of Joy. Although it took on a different meaning for me than it did for her, the image of the moso bamboo tree inspired me to compose a song.

The lyrics are a conversation between a soul and God, throughout the sort of experience that is often known in spiritual circles as the dark night of the soul. But in this case, the process is likened to the growth pattern of the moso bamboo tree, which grows roots for five years before it even breaks ground (and then it hits some kind of plant puberty and grows about 90 feet in six months, but who's counting?). To the unsuspecting gardener, those first five years look to be a failure, like nothing good is happening and any hope of vegetation is gone.

But the God I've come to know through my grief is a God with dirty fingernails and all the time in the world. A God who knows the strength of roots and the goodness of brokenness when a seed is breaking open, breaking ground.

It's through writing this song that I began to live again, and it's only now that I realize that the person I came to be, in some way, is still and always will be my Grandsprout's Sprout.

Growing Underground
Music and lyrics by Kimberley Fais, 2013

You plant. You feed. You water. I sleep.
Then I stretch, and I breathe, and take root in the deep.
Even though I can't see, You promise me
I'm not going under. I'm just growing underground.
I'm not going under. I'm just growing underground.
And I will grow out before I grow up.
It's a long way out.

You've got time in Your hands and dirt in Your nails.
You see what succeeds when everything fails.
It's hard to believe what You promised me.
I'm not going under. I'm just growing underground.
I'm not going under. I'm just growing underground.
And I will grow out before I grow up.
It's a long way up.

Deep and dark down here, where I weep with joy,
I'm not drowning out Your still small voice.
Little do I know I'm right where I should be.
I'm where You're tending me.

You planted. You fed. You watered. I woke.
Then I stretched, and I breathed, and through the ground I broke.
And I rose, and I grew. You said: "I promised you--
You were never going under. You were just growing underground.
You were never going under. You were just growing underground.
And I watched you grow the roots that would let you grow up.
Look at you now. . . ."

A Girl's Best Friend, Anglican Style

It's been a while since I've posted one of my own song parodies, but I have a special treat for you.

Apparently the apple doesn't fall far from the ministerial tree -

I've just been notified that one of my former ministers and great mentors, the priest from an Episcopal Church I attended regularly over 10 years ago, is a parody lyricist.

This is rather how I imagine it would be to discover a hidden part of my family tree, thus clearing up some unexplained genetics. Really. This explains a lot.

But it gets better. She's not only written lyrics but has also taken it to the next level... and recorded a video.

So without further ado: "The Prayerbook Is A Girl's Best Friend." (Didn't you know that?)



Written and performed by Rev. Suzanne Guthrie (lyrics found here), based upon "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend" from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

She puts me to shame. I think I need to step up my song parodies.

Thanks for the inspiration, Rev!

The Portrait of Samantha

One winter's day in England, I woke up and the sky was bright blue and I leapt for joy. But the day was even more extraordinary than that, and it involved food and chance-meetings with memorable strangers. And food.

Between a delicious Nutella crepe from Michel's and a movie at the Odeon, I spent a couple of hours wandering through the city. Most everyone I knew in town had evacuated for the holidays, and I was determined to begin my month of general solitude by finding ways to appreciate where I was even in the absence of familiar faces. Heading along St. Aldate's, I doubled back a little and decided to take the "scenic route" past Christ Church - past its trees, its veinous vines and its forbidden grass (so tempting) - toward the Thames.


Naturally I had already devoured my crepe of chocolate love and hazelnut happiness, so with slightly sticky but otherwise conveniently free hands I unleashed my camera on the world, taking the clear skies as an opportunity for shutterbuggin'. My camera at the time was decidedly moody and decidedly not compatible with Britain. It didn't function well with grey any better than I did.

Along the broad path, an elderly woman rested on one of the benches, a great willow tree behind her and the leaves of the tall oaks enveloping her in shade. She wore a light green hat and a cozy white coat, layered over which was a white apron. On her lap she worked at a large piece of paper, already quite far along with branches of graphite splaying across the sheet.


We exchanged greetings at a distance; shared our satisfaction with the weather. I regaled her with my bit about my anti-cloud camera and was pleased to see her smile, even though it didn't seem she needed a reason. She was simply pleasant, enchanting. Before long we were thoroughly engaged in conversation, and she showed me bits of her work. She considers herself an artist and a poet, and "perhaps a sort of philosopher." She loves nature. She ponders humanity, life, innocence. She pointed me in the direction of the last poem in her collection, one about youth.

"I wrote that after I saw a child skipping ahead of me one day," she explained. "I was a child once. But where did I go? I swallowed myself."

Hm. Paraphrasing there. I suppose philosophy is one of those things that sounds equally cryptic whether or not you've quoted correctly.

She would draw the trees from one college campus after another. Often the images would eventually be scaled down to be placed on cards. She spoke of one young woman who asked her to design her wedding invitations. The couple were married in a forest and have since lived in a tree house somewhere.

The trees must have been her favorite. She would speak to the trees; she would hear them. I'm not one to believe vehemently that plants and inanimate objects have personality or communication, but then my science professor that year had told me that I anthropomorphize everything, and he generally needed to explain whatever neurological process I'd just butchered in actual scientific terms that would not lend emotion and motivation to ions and synapses. I decided not to tell him that I've also named half my appliances, or that I speak aloud in a specifically quirky voice to signify translating for my dog. And when this woman admitted to me that after dropping a spoon she set it down elsewhere and said, "I'm putting you in solitary confinement!" my inward chuckle was quickly quelled with a thought of - well, a moody camera. Let's leave it at that. So I won't judge.

I listened. Just listened.

She extracted a card from her unusual portfolio, full of scribbled pages and scraps of fabric. "I saw these two little acorns and this is what they told me," she said. She opened the card, and inside with another image of the acorns it read, 'We will be two trees.' She smiled when she read it.

She described Joseph, an oak, and Samantha, the great willow behind her. There were several designs incorporating Samantha in particular. She'd written a book about her called The Portrait of Samantha, and seemed to feel especially fond of her. She said that one day, Samantha asked, "Do you think I'm beautiful?" and so she drew her, as well as a self-portrait, and placed them side-by-side, and Samantha thanked her.

She seemed to remember every person, every face, every name; what's more, she knew each of their stories, as though no life were to go unnoticed or forgotten. That young man is a maths student from America; he has another year here. The runner over there - he comes by the river every day at this time. They all acknowledged her in passing with smiles and salutations.

"This man," she later explained, nodding unobtrusively down the path to a man in a long black coat, "was a professor at Christ Church. He's retired now, and he's become an alcoholic. Falls asleep sometimes here amongst the trees."

As she continued I listened silently, both intrigued and concerned, not daring to glance at him and trying to find a balance in remaining respectful of both the speaker and the unknowing subject.

"Look," she whispered more fervently, her brows raising into her wrinkled forehead, and finally I did.

The red of his entire face only accentuated his bulbous nose and droopy eyes. A bit of saliva or such dribbled at the side of his lip a good way down his chin. What most captivated me, however, was the addition he had made to his long black coat: a flower, an entire flower complete with about 18 inches of its stem, held assumedly through a button-hole near his lapel. He looked absolutely sorrowful, as though in perpetual mourning. Slowly he passed us, and I thought he was going to continue to plod down the path without a word, but he nodded to us and said quietly, "Good luck," before departing.

There was little more to our visit. We talked more of art and writing. Suddenly it seemed not to matter that inside I knew my passion for both was dwindling; it was exciting just to share the appreciation for it with someone. Without knowing all this, she told me, "I can see the writer in you." It was an unexpected comment - one that, along with all the intriguing parts of the afternoon, gave me a subtle spark of the creative passion that I'd so missed. It isn't often that an acquaintance acknowledges something, anything, in you. I should add this to my repertoire of day-brighteners. I should be so fortunate to lift someone in that way.

Her name was Zoe Peterssen, and on a whim I later searched for her online. Apparently people have spoken of meeting her in this fashion at least as early as 1998. Learning this, I only feel all the more honored to be a part of this decade or so of people who have been somehow enchanted with this woman, so much so that she has been immortalized not only through her work but also through stories told everywhere.

Before I left I bought one of her cards, one of the portraits of Samantha. I liked it because it was in fact the tree behind her as we spoke that day, but also because it had made an impression on me as I looked through her collection.

Inside it reads simply: 'Not alone.'

Perhaps God speaks through the trees; perhaps through portraits of them.

---

This is a revision of an entry from my old travel journal, December 2008.

The Makings of a Muppet, Pt. 3

This is the third and final part of how to make a Muppet-like puppet. See the previous two posts for more!



The Eyes

Lift the fleece on the head from the nose up. Use Super Glue to adhere the fleece to the styrofoam head just where the eyes will go. The glue may bleed through the fleece a bit, but if you centralize it, this will be hidden by the eyes later. Be sure to conform the fleece as securely to the styrofoam shape as possible - no bumps or empty space between foam and fleece.

Then glue the eyes into place. I used google eyes about 1" in diameter, but consider other materials including wood, felt or beads. You may also like to add lashes, brows, lids, or other features.



The Hands

Cut out two hands from the fleece. Make each hand double-sided so that it can be stuffed. You can do this by making four fleece hand patterns, but I found it most convenient to fold the fleece so that each hand had two sides still attached at the wrist.

Pay attention to the size of your hand patterns and keep in mind that the finished product will be smaller after sewing. Note also how many fingers you wish to give your puppet. I gave my Abominable Snow Muppet four fingers on each hand.

To be done with each hand: Neatly sew around the fingers, leaving a space of about an inch at the end. Tie off your thread and turn the fleece hand inside-out so that the stitches are hidden, as one would do in making a pillow. Use a dowel to lightly poke inside the fleece hand and fix the fingers.



Fill the hands with soft foam, polyfil, or fabric. I used slivers of soft foam (the same that I'd used in the jaw) and discovered that this allowed me to position the hands after they were closed - the fingers could be slightly curled and looked more visually interesting. Pack the filling in firmly, but be gentle with your stitched fleece.

Before each hand is filled, decide whether you would like to be able to operate one or both of the puppet's hands with dowels. I chose to do this with both hands, so for each one, I prepared a thin wooden dowel of about 15" long.

For safety, I capped off one end on each dowel with electrical tape. On the opposite ends of the two dowels, I tightly wrapped strips of soft foam and secured them with tape. These ends rest inside the hands, and adding the foam prevents the dowels from slipping out or tearing through the fleece.

Insert these ends of the dowels into the hands and stitch each hand closed, sewing extra securely around the dowels.

As you do all this, be sure that the puppet has a "left" hand and a "right" hand - i.e. that the fingers are pointing correctly when the dowels protrude from the bottoms of the hand shapes.



The Torso & Fur

I'm not going to go into extraordinary detail about how I stitched the white fur around the puppet, because if I ever do a similar project, I will likely do it differently.

As you can see in the second photo of this post, the purple fleece torso is an extension of the fleece from the jaw. It's essentially a tube that the puppeteer's hand fits through and allows enough space to situate one's hand inside the jaw. The fur provides the bulk of the puppet, giving it shape and weight (a little too much weight here, hence the change I would make in the future). You could, of course, do something similar with stuffed clothing.

I attached the fur of the torso and the fur of the head separately, and this worked well. I wrapped the purple fleece tube with a doubled-up sheet of the fur and evened out the bottom edge. I sewed with white thread along all flaps. Then I covered the head with another doubled-up sheet of fur and stitched it directly to the purple fleece on the top of the head and to the white fur at the neck. I sewed around the jaw, including at the chin, but made sure that it would not hinder the movement of the mouth.

Here is the puppet with torso and arms completed, but with the fur on the head not yet secured. At this point I briefly considered renaming him General Washington.



The Arms

I cut two long strips of the same soft foam I'd used in the hands and jaw. I rolled one up inside a sheet of the white fur fabric, temporarily pinned the ends, and sewed it together with white thread. Then I sewed one end to the puppet's torso and one end to the corresponding hand. Repeat with the second srip of foam to make the other arm.

And that leaves us with our finished puppet:




MATERIALS

8" styrofoam sphere
Knife or scraper for foam
Scissors
Needles and pins
Thread: black (to match felt mouth) and colors to match exterior fabrics (for mine, few if any stitches on the purple fleece are visible so I used only black and white)
Black felt: one 12" sheet should suffice
Google-eyes, about 1" each
Super Glue
Soft foam or batting to stuff hands, arms, and/or body
Wooden dowel(s): I cut one long dowel of about 35" into three pieces of about 16" and 16" (for hands) and 3" (for nose)
Foam ball for nose, about 2" diameter
1 yard of "furry" fabric
1/3 yard of stretchy fleece: I would instead recommend using one yard of stretchy fleece and adding fur, hair and/or accessories as desired

The Makings of a Muppet, Pt. 2

This is Part 2/3 toward making a Muppet-style puppet. See the previous post for more information about making the head and nose. Today we're tackling the all-important jaw, and next time I'll finish off with the eyes, arms and body.

The Moveable Jaw

Here's where things got interesting and extra improvisational.



I had a jaw-like piece of foam left over from what I had cropped out of the original styrofoam ball, so I used that as a base. I cut enough space in it to allow for my thumb to rest there.



And although the piece fits neatly on the head, I also made sure that my whole hand could fit inside the puppet's mouth to operate it hand-puppet style. This will simply take a little trial and error. You could surely fashion a jaw without the extra foam, but I found that it gave it good shape and support.

Then I situated that piece of foam on a sheet of fleece - just enough to cover it, making sure that it was loose enough to keep that thumb-niche. I stitched the fleece in place.

(Note: In that step, you can substitute just about any fabric for the fleece. It need not match the rest of your puppet, because it won't be visible in a minute. Likewise for the stitches/thread. The main purposes of the fabric are simply protection for the foam jaw, ease of attaching things, and comfort for the puppeteer's hand.)

Next, I cut two equal pieces of cardboard to fit comfortably on top of this jaw insert and in the roof of the puppet's mouth. When these cardboard pieces are LATER connected at one end to form a joint, they will be the part of the mouth which the puppeteer operates directly - the visible inside of the mouth.



Cover one cardboard piece with black felt on both sides: Use one piece of felt, folded in half over the rounded edge of the cardboard, to minimize and hide stitches. Use black thread to sew all 3 open sides. Leave a bit of extra felt hanging over on the straight edge of the cardboard, but stitch the felt together along the cardboard edge so that it is not loose.



Smooth out a sheet of fleece on your work surface. This fabric should be several inches longer than your puppet's body will be (excluding the head, including the neck).

Place the second cardboard piece on top of the fabric. Fold the fabric over the straight edge of the cardboard to cover both sides of the piece.



Stitch firmly in place.



Take your fleece-covered "thumb niche" piece and position it upside-down on your fleece-covered cardboard. If you hold it there temporarily and turn the whole thing right-side-up, as though to operate the puppet, you should see that your thumb fits neatly into the niche with the cardboard above it, and the straight edge of the cardboard rests against the palm of your hand.

When I did this, I noticed that what would become the lower lip area would be a little flat. I had some soft green foam at my disposal, so I cut off a slender length of it and sewed it to the "thumb niche" part of the jaw so that the fleece would hang in front of it.

I sewed these pieces together to form the lower portion of the mouth.

First view:



When folded toward me:



Remember that extra piece of black felt that was never attached to anything? I sewed it in place on top of the purple fleece, with that extra bit on the straight edge hanging off the back where the puppeteer's palm rests.

Then I took the felt-covered cardboard piece, lined it up (literally lay it on top of the matching black felt) and sewed it ONLY along that straight edge to form a hinge effect.

And here it is:



If I were to insert this whole piece into the puppet head without connecting it yet, it would look like the first picture in this post. But before I attach it, I want to do one more thing.

See those jowls - the extra purple fleece hanging down to the left and right of the jaw? I pulled those back in such a way that did not create obvious folds and sewed them in place at the back of the jaw. I cut off the excess only where they extended past the jaw piece itself so that they wouldn't interfere with the puppeteer's hand, which will be trying to find its place without any visual guidance once the puppet is all closed up.

So as you secure this portion of your puppet's neck and jaw, mainly keep in mind the functionality for the puppeteer and what will be visible from the front of your puppet. If necessary, look at the whole jaw while it is resting in the head, unattached, and take note of how much of it will be conveniently hidden once it is all connected. That's where you'll want to sew.

Optionally, you may like to add a tongue, teeth, or other mouthy adornments. I imagine now would be a good time to do that, but since the jaw is not yet attached to the puppet head, be sure that whatever you add (such as big fangs) do not prevent the puppet's mouth from closing or moving properly.

Once you're done with the jaw, you can attach it to your puppet's head. Position it in the mouth, being sure that there is enough space for the puppeteer's hand to grasp the cardboard pieces from the inside.

With black thread, stitch the felt-covered cardboard roof of the mouth to the fleece along the cardboard's front edge (where one's top front teeth would be). This will hold it in place, but check back as you work on the next step to be sure of the placement on the fleece.

Loosen the fleece from your puppet head - only below the nose. Sew along the two sides of the roof of the mouth (felt-covered cardboard) to secure it to the fleece. Leave the cardboard's straight edge (at the hinge) unattached. Again, test along the way that the puppeteer's hand will fit into this contraption.

Once you've formed this "pocket" for the puppeteer's four fingers, you'll need to secure the fleece to the puppet's foam head so that the whole jaw doesn't just flop out. Do so with a couple of dabs of Super Glue along the foam, but avoid letting it glob as the glue does go through the fleece. When it dries it could be mildly uncomfortable for a puppeteer. (When it's wet it will be immensely inconvenient for a stuck puppeteer.) Globbed glue is visible on the fleece, but obviously won't be visible on this section of the puppet, in the dark recesses of its throat. Just keep it off of all visible fleece bits.

So, that's all she wrote. Next time, onward and upward - to the eyes - and back down again to the arms and body!

The Makings of a Muppet, Pt. 1

In the mood for some indoor crafty ventures? Read on for a guide to making your own Muppet-style puppet and see how my own one-of-a-kind Abominable Snow Muppet emerged from a pile of fleece, fur and felt.



This first view is simply an estimation of what I planned to make; absolutely none of these pieces, from the fabrics to the eyes and nose, are actually attached yet.

Just goes to show you how simple it is to design your Muppet masterpiece from the start!

The Head: Basics



I carved the head from this 8" styrofoam sphere, shaping the cheekbones and hollowing out spaces for the eyes and a space for the jaw so that the whole piece could rest comfortably on my hand.

Be prepared for tons of styrofoam shavings on your clothes and work area!




The Nose

The nose is a small foam sphere (see first photo) that came with a hole in one end. I matched this hole to a thin wooden dowel which I inserted and then trimmed with an inch or so sticking out. The tiny hole in the styrofoam head was made by that bit of dowel.

I also cut a sliver off of the foam ball on the side with the hole to make that side flat and rest closer to the puppet's face.



I stretched a small piece of purple fleece across the foam nose, gathered the edges around the inserted dowel and trimmed off the excess. I sewed the fleece in place, hiding the stitches close to the dowel.

Two possible variations: You might like to sculpt the nose before covering it with fleece. You can also use a different color fleece for the nose than for the rest of the face.

The Fleece-Flesh

I stretched a larger sheet of purple fleece across the styrofoam head and pinned it in place at important points, like the eyes and mouth.*

*One modification I'd make in the future: since I planned to add the white fur later, I used only one third of a yard of purple fleece and did not extend the fleece past the top of the head. It would probably be simpler and more effective to use a larger sheet of fleece, cover the whole piece and make additions (like hair or fur) later.

Be sure that the fleece is tucked to the back of the hollowed jaw and that the excess hangs down at least a couple of inches past the bottom of the styrofoam head.



I poked a tiny hole in the fleece where the nose would go, inserted the dowel, and sewed the nose fleece to the face fleece. The stitches basically hid themselves. Voila: secure appendage.

Chomping at the bit to add the jaw? Check back soon!

The War of Art

Before one of the last races of the Christ Church regatta (fall 2008), our team warmed up, rowing south along the Isis toward the starting line.

My legs became stiff, locked, almost physically unable to move. Part of me, a very athletically- and physiologically-ignorant part, worried that I had overdone it and that if I continued I could do some sort of irreparable damage. It seems silly to say it, but the fear was real enough. I finally confessed to the captain, who cycled along the shore to cheer us on and, when necessary, communicate with the marshalls on our behalf.

She told me to work through it, to use it, and I did. I put more force into my legs than ever, driving hard through the water if just to spite them. Each time I have trouble writing or working or doing anything, I remember that moment, that triumph - not just the victory, but the fight for it.

During that same year my writing prof realized that my creative energy was beginning to dwindle. I think if one day we ever meet again and decide to play Pictionary or Charades, I want her to be on my team:

"This" - she said; I don't even remember what nondescript noun she called it - "is it light or heavy?"

Stuck. Honestly had no idea. Whatever it was, it felt like nothingness to me. Is nothingness light or heavy?

"To me it feels like the heaviest thing," she said so earnestly, almost forlornly, gazing out the window of her study to the vast meadows across the street. And so the questions continued. "What does it smell like? Does it have a taste?" I didn't know. I must have conjured up something unappetizing to satiate her curiosity. "Give it a name," she said finally.

I felt my skin flush. I eyed the door. I remembered the feeling of being cornered and remembered I didn't really like it.

"A name!" she said. "Give it a name, like..." [Here insert a nonsensical name for a fictional character in the 2088 Novel of the Year, or the name of your favorite circus troupe's star clown. Either one.]

I sputtered uncertainly, "Stan?"

"Stan! Good. What does he look like?"

Perhaps it was only colored by my own discomfiture, but this interaction was nearing bizarre, and I was not responding all that creatively. I summed up what I called the Archetypal Emo Guy, upon her confusion as to what that actually meant. And then for specificity's sake I doodled him, pretty black tresses hiding his little eyes and all.

Apparently the purpose of all this was to give me something to work against. I wonder if fiction requires an extent of friction, both inside (the story itself) and out. Conflict, driving force, motivation. So my perpetual task from the prof throughout the year was this: to fight Stan. It was like playing a video game with my own badly conceived villain, made slightly better with my own shuffled music collection for a soundtrack.

But she had quite a point. Naming it - even naming it Stan (or Juggernaut... but more on that tomorrow) - that's the first step.

I fought Stan. I fought him hard, but never entirely defeated him. Stan fancied himself a stowaway and traveled home with me. He has since popped his hairy little head in now and then, and I'm devoting the first year of grad school to squishing him between my frenetically-typing fingers.

When I was about six, I drew a picture of Superman flexing his graphite biceps and captioned it with a phrase that had caught my eye: "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." My mother kept it on her bulletin board, and I think seeing it there made an impression on me. It wasn't just a display of her kid's art. It was a statement of conviction. It was a battle cry. It earned a notable place in her own work area, her own Stress Central.

So cue the music. Something to play while Superman kicks Stan's butt.



Or something like that.

-----

Battling your own creative blocks? Fighting resistance? Be it in writing, art, business, sport, or anything at all, I wholeheartedly recommend the book The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. Check it out at StevenPressfield.com or find it on Amazon.