Hello again!

I’ve been waiting to get some real photoshoot pictures of the costumes I made to post about it, but by the amount of time that’s lapsed since my last post it’s evident that it won’t be happening soon. At the very least, I should just roll with what I’ve got and post about it later when/if the shoots happen.

I’ve been doing a lot more creative work in the last several months than I have in about the one or two years beforehand. I interspersed the journals I’ve been working on since last year with a couple of costume pieces inspired by a video game I love to play called FallOut. For my non-gamers it  imagines what things could be like if a world-wide nuclear apocalypse happened in a world where the 50’s idea of the future had taken place. Very retro, very apocalyptic.

The first piece made is a shirt I imagined belonging to a lady sniper. It has elements like a butt-pad for the stock of a rifle to rest against made from an old leather catcher’s mitt, attached utility harness for clipping needed tools and bags to, reinforced sides, kill trophies, and even a spot of damage from when she took a hit somehow and had to sew up a bloody hole.


The main point of fun in this sort of costume design is the scavenging and reusing aspect. New materials simply wouldn’t exist in that kind of world, so you make whatever you can find work. I’d hoped to have my friend model for the shoot, as she’s petite enough to fit the shirt and is generally rocking some kind of punk-tastic hairstyle that would lend itself well to the shoot, but getting the shoot together has proven difficult. She lives a couple of hours away, and I’m never 100% committed to any of the locations around here enough to drag her all the way up yet. There is a place in town that would be completely perfect, but when we tried going there for another shoot, it was gated off and had mysterious RV’s parked outside. I’ve since been trying to contact the owner of the property to secure permission to be out there, but finding out who that is has been a challenge.

It’s the old fisherman’s co-op here in Richmond Hill, if anyone is feeling Sherlock Holmes-ey.


The only elements on this shirt that are just for show are the badges and trophies. I designed everything else to be as wearable and usable as possible. As such, the utility harness made from various belts and straps ties and belts on, but is also completely removable and even reasonably comfortable to wear. Nothing in the wasteland would be kept if it couldn’t be used, and the costumes I create try to reflect that.

I might just try to lose a couple of pounds and model this myself. I’ve tried it on, and I have to confess to feeling immediately like a complete bad-ass.

The second costume I put together was for my little one, Lulah. I designed a little kid punk-style vest, and had a complete costume idea in my head.


It took a while to find the perfect dress, and her bear hat still isn’t exactly as I envisioned it, but I’ll get to work on it soon (I’ll have to before she outgrows the vest! It won’t be long now). We got her all dirty and made-up for the shoot, but then the co-op was closed off and I couldn’t think of anywhere else in time to still catch the daylight, so I just snapped a few quick photos in the driveway.

Little Lamplight has a new mayor

Before anyone has a cow, that’s a Red Ryder BB gun, and a broken one at that. Even if Lulah wanted to shoot her eye out, it would be physically impossible.

She comes up with her poses entirely on her own.


We definitely need to get more, better, photos of this costume taken. There are so many cool details that I’d like to show, and I don’t have a mannequin small enough to take stills. It won’t be long before the vest goes up for sale, I think. It’s already a little small. I just wish we could do a FallOut family theme for Halloween this year before that happens!

The batch of four similar-but-not-the same journals are nearly finished, and I’ll make a separate post just for them. Only two will actually be available, in the end. One I already finished and mailed off to the friend of a friend who is having more than her fair share of hardships thrown at her. I don’t really know what the journal is going to do for her, but I just wanted to do something. Another I decided to keep for Lulah when she’s older. What’s the point of having a mom that makes things if she never makes things for you, amiright? I really feel like I’m improving drastically with these weird journal things. These four are the best I’ve made yet and I already feel like I can do much better. Even though I have plans for four or five new styles of journal, I’m going to take a quick break from them to make some other, smaller and quicker, things first. I’m thinking about opening a stall at one of those antique malls, as I just don’t know how well these journals can sell online at the price they’ll need to be to make up for the time it takes to create one. I feel like people will need to hold one in their hands and look through it to really understand what they have there. What do you think? Would making a video that goes through each journal page be a step in the right direction?

The Follow-Up

The dread gallbladder surgery finally had a face when Day Surgery called Monday afternoon to tell me to be in at 8am the next morning for the old slicity-slice. When I was there for pre-screening they assured me that they never keep anyone waiting for long beforehand.

This was a flagrant lie.

Dustin and I left around 7, and I signed in at the front desk promptly at 7:45. I even waited until the gaggle of people crowded there left so I could be sure the ladies at reception noticed me signing in. Not because I need all eyes on me, but because if I have to face the facts, my super-power is falling through the cracks. This isn’t a pity party, just an honest assessment of my life.

Two hours went by. At first I was mostly preoccupied with being nervous to get pissy about the length of time, but when people we heard getting called into surgery were having their families called into their recovery rooms—people who came in well AFTER us—then I started getting a little hot under the collar. My name was called to report to the front desk, and at the same time they called my phone to ask if I was coming in. It was 10 by this time. The receptionist asked if I had signed in.

” Yes. At 7:45.” She looked shocked, then looked at her clipboard. Then flipped up a page. Then flipped up another page until she saw my name, completely buried under the people they’d skipped ahead of me. I was supposed to have been first in line with my surgeon that day, but didn’t actually get into the OR until 12:30 thanks to that happy little snafu.

The nurse who prepped me was great. I barely even felt it when she put the IV in, and I wish I could have some of those compression wraps they put on my legs for home. They were like having a wonderful calf massage every thirty seconds or so.

The anesthesiologist came in to say ‘hello,’ and looked exactly like Ebinezer Scrooge. Luckily, I didn’t have to see him again. His weirdly exuberant aides wheeled me away to the OR and I immediately cracked up laughing—”Back That Azz Up” was blaring in the background. My surgeon was super into 90’s hiphop they explained. He was such a small, nerdy looking white dude, with an Egon Spangler-esque demeanor that I never would have guessed. I mean, whatever keeps him pumped and feeling like a boss, right?

The anesthesia ladies explained that the drugs may burn in my hand a little has they come through the tube, but that it should only last for a second. Boy were they wrong. It burned like a mother and lasted about twenty seconds. They put an oxygen mask on me and said to take a few deep breaths. I managed one before I was PTFO.




I came awake all at once in the recovery bay. A lot of people talk about having loopy dreams and conversations with people who aren’t there while coming awake, but no such fun for me. Just intense pain that I was totally unprepared for. The stout lady furiously mouse-clicking at the workstation next to my stretcher gave me a shot of dilaudid, which without exaggeration was just barely enough to ease the pain, and I was wheeled into a private room. A few hours later the pain started coming back with a vengeance and my nurse gave me a single pill of the weakest OxyContin possible. She said I could have another in half an hour if I needed.

I needed.

When I called her back for the other pill she said “You’re a little on the small side, I just didn’t want to over medicate you.” Thanks? But seriously, over medicate me. Most of the rest of the afternoon was spent between crying in pain, and drug-addled sleep. The tech told me I needed her help to the bathroom, so at one point I asked her for help, which she did, but then didn’t come back to help me out. Thank glob Dustin was there.

Around 8 my nurse said they were ready to discharge me whenever I felt ready to go. A minute in the hospital is too damn long, so I let her know I was ready. She said she’d put in the order for my meds at the pharmacy and then come unhook me from everything. About an hour later Dustin’s like, “They fucking forgot you again.” Sure enough, she’d gone home for the night and no one even knew I was still there. He flagged down someone and let them know what was up, and the night tech and nurse came in to get me ready to go. The night nurse seemed completely incompetent, but did say that she didn’t think she was in the right room because my chart said I was 34, but that I look 24. The tech was like, ” You ARE very beautiful.” Seriously, you ladies are crazy but I love you.

Isnt it funny how when you’re in pain even the shortest drive is the longest of your life? We had to stop so I could take a pill before we made it, but eventually we did. Lulah was asleep when we left in the morning, and when we got home. It was the first time I hadn’t seen my kid for an entire day. We really like our kid, so that sucked.

I feel much better today, with a lot less pain. I even ate some jalapeño poppers! There’s a list of food I’ve been dying for but couldn’t have while on the low-fat diet for the last two or three months. Can’t wait to start checking those bad boys off! I’ll probably have to take up running or something. I lost twenty pounds in those months, and could probably gain all that back in a week.

All that fuss and it hardly looks like anything!

Anyhow, the kitchen is soooo close to finished so I should have some after pics for that soon, and then we can get back to making stuff!

Remodels and Organ Removals

My friends, I have been horridly remiss (among many things) in keeping this blog up to date. While that has been the status quo around here since the blog began, I had real instant ions (I came back through on a proofread and was like ‘the fuck?’ I wrote most of the beginning of this on a tablet–yet another victim of overzealous auto-correct but who the hell knows what it originally said? Not me. Maybe you do) and plans for more regular posts that were derailed by insidious outside forces.

Okay, maybe insidious is a bit of a stretch, but when misfortunes come at you from all sides like they’ve been at my house, it begins to feel like you’re being attacked by some unseen nemesis. It’s gotten so bad that my normally logical brain started thinking about the Evil Eye and feeling superstitious enough to start hanging amulets.

It started with a pain in my side. I would very occasionally experience a muscle cramp-type pain in this spot when sitting in the car, but I never thought much of it because it would go away again and not come back for weeks. The pain started morphing into a stabbing type, and one night after a super delicious, super greasy dinner of tacos and fried tortillas, it morphed into HOLYFUCKSOMETHINGISWRONG pain. I almost went to the hospital, but the internet assured me that it was just my gallbladder pooping the bed and likely wasn’t an emergency yet. A trip to the doctor a few days later confirmed that, yes, my gallbladder has taken an early retirement and will need to be evicted from its high-rent apartment. 

Jokes on you, you little jerk
In the three weeks (!?!?!!) it took for my Dr. Office’s asshole referral department to get back to me with just a name and phone number of a surgeon that I had to call and arrange everything myself with, our house flooded.

“Flood,” might conjure more water to mind than there was, but water was under the floorboards of most of our music room, in the laundry room, and in the kitchen. That night I had just grabbed my violin to go back into the bedroom for a little night practice when I noticed a weird sound while walking into the hall. Then I noticed water squishing up between the boards. We turned off the water and spent all night cutting holes in the walls to find the leak, pulling up floorboards, and throwing all the towels we had at the flood like confetti at a parade no one really wanted to attend.


We found the leak in the main water pipe connection in the wall between the laundry room and kitchen, and also found that what was now a river had once been an unnoticed  stream for quite some time. There was so much black mold growing in all the drywall. So much flooring and trim were soaked and ruined, as well as all of the bottom kitchen cabinets. Our kitchen cabinets (entire kitchen, really) had been an eyesore since before I even moved in almost 7 years ago, so I wasn’t crying for them so much as the awful timing.  Pulling out floorboards, drywall, and literally everything from the kitchen left my home looking like a war zone. That’s not hyperbole; I know what a war zone looks like, friends, and my house fit right in.


Spot the child!

Building, repairing, or changing anything in this house is stressful at the best of times because of the work crew; my hubs and his grandfather, Jim. Jim was once a scientist in the Army Corps of Engineers, and I have yet to be able to successfully imagine it. Jim does not operate in a scientific way. When presented with a problem, instead of logically puzzling out the absolute best solution, he commits full-tilt to the very first whimsy that pops into his mind. Often, this results in many things requiring repair that hadn’t before, and inordinate cost. I once told him his work method was like that of a wrecking ball, and he laughed.

“Can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.” Yes Jim, but not the whole dozen and not the Fabergè for maths sake!

Hubs is a logical man and this behavior makes him suitably crazy. He tries to steer Jim into a better course of action, but it’s a lot like guiding a charging bull. Most projects I have to leave the house for because I can really only stand a half hour or so of shouting at a time.

I’m officially sold on yearly repainting of the ceiling

While they were working on drywall and plumbing and stuff I have no experience in, I decided to use our surplus of kitchen paint to tackle our bedroom–another of the craphole rooms in the house that have been sucking my soul. (Basically Lulah’s room is the only room in the house that doesn’t look like hobos squatted there for years and then vacated, and that’s only because we had a timer ticking down on the renovation of that room. Once that turkey was done, we would be SOL if we hadn’t finished fixing it up) Painting our bed had been on my to-do list for a long time so I went ahead and checked that off too. I think we died of paint fume poisoning that night while we slept, but got better.

In the middle of all this fun, this happened. We lost power before it even started raining.

The power outage from the hurricane lasted a full night and day, but was only a slight nuisance. We couldn’t really get any work on the house done, so Dustin plugged the TV and XBox into the generator so I could play FallOut 4 all night. Having no power was kind of a blessing, really, because I wouldn’t have allowed myself the RnR if real work could have been done.

Tomorrow the granite for the kitchen counters is getting installed, and I’m really going to be cracking the whip over us to get the thousand tiny little details wrapped up that are still unfinished that probably wouldn’t bother my husband but is seriously doing damage to my peace of mind. It’s been tough, as my energy level has been Pbbbbbllt for almost the last two months has been nil. In order to avoid any pain (and I assume exploding this bum organ) I’ve been on a very low-fat diet. At first I was having trouble figuring out what to eat aside from bowls upon bowls of raw vegetables. Many days I was only eating around 600-800 kcal. Eventually I got into the swing of things, figured more foods out, and am feeling a little less dead. Only a little though.

I can’t wait to share some “after” photos with you guys, but I just wanted to let everyone know where I was! The surgery is Tuesday, I hope to update around the end of next week.Wish me luck!

Somewhere Beyond the Sea



My friends have birthdays every year, and still I can never seem to get myself together in time to give them a meaningful gift on time. This year the stars aligned to make me think of a journal idea for my friend and remember her birthday was coming up. Technically, more dilly-dallying was done than was allowed for in the original plan, but planning and assembly still wrapped up just in time.


I feel this is my best journal to date, but even still there were things to learn. Over stuffing is my biggest problem, and I thought I’d gotten the best of myself by using 30 pages—about 1/2 of previous journals. What I failed to account for was how bulky many of my page plans were, and the book ended up quite full. I’ve been sewing together signatures and then creating the pages, but in the future I’ll make all of the pages first, and then see what kind of binding is required.

I was worried working around a central theme would feel limiting, and come out pretentious or cheesy.The theme—a hierarchy of mermaids, followed by kitsch, comics, and surrealism—ended up really helping in keeping me focused. I may try other some other themes if any good ones come to mind. The journal of a vampire hunter always seemed mysterious and enticing, maybe I’ll queue up some Bram Stoker and Vampire Hunter D to get the ideas flowing!

I’ve never really cared for things about the things I like, rather I’d prefer them to be from the things I like. Examp,e: I wouldn’t want a a poster of Hannibal Lecter so much as a mask like the one he wears in Silence of the Lambs. In that same vein, I tried to make this journal less about mermaids, and more like a mermaid’s own journal. I used trinkets that would likely be common pretties for merfolk; sharks teeth, pearls, gold doubloons.

Compasses, locks, scraps of fabric, waterlogged paper and documents; detritus from sunken ships.

I got got to use some great little pieces I’ve been holding onto for a long time. That cutie turtle in the spine was a magnet of my mom’s from before I was born, and has been on my fridge my entire life. I feel like it’s important to include ingredients that are dear to me whenever I make any kind of assemblage project. It helps keep me connected until it’s over.

Vintage seafood recipe cards from a 50’s Betty Crocker collection. What else would mermaids eat?

The sea conjures images of tangled seaweed, vividly colored corals and fishes, and the night sky. What could be more magical than drifting on warm, tropical waters, and looking up into the heavens without a ounce of light pollution to obscure a single glimmering dot in the sky? Pirates and sailors would, no doubt, try to impress any mermaids they encountered with their knowledge of the constellations.

I tried to strike a balance between dressing up the pages, and leaving enough space for photos and embellishments. There are a couple hidden reoccurring themes as well!

page 8

This is my favorite page! Messages in bottles were the first thing to come to mind when thinking of mermaids, and it was a lot of fun translating that to a journal page. The scroll is removable for secrets.

                                            Photo frames galore

Most pages have a tab, and there are lots of journaling tags. Two pages feature baggies for storing treasures.

The chains page is another way to attach and store keepsakes.

The center pages are fabric. I always end up with buttons, pins, and fabrics to include in my scrapbooks and am always challenged as to attaching them. I wrapped several safety pins with thread, and made a little charm for one. The large, lacy circle has a felt back with a brooch pin. The metal disc reminded me of a ship’s wheel, and I oriented it north-northwest (it’s one of my favorite Shakespeare lines) on the lace.

Like every journal so far, a hundred ideas flooded me the moment I finished. Every one should get better and better. I feel like I’m nearly ready to sell a few!

What would you want in a keepsake journal like this?

What do I call these things anyway?


_MG_6569In the interest of chronology I’d originally planned a few posts ahead of this one, but I just finished a beast that soaked up around 15-20 hours of my life and am excited to share it! As the title suggests, I’m having trouble figuring out what exactly to call these books I’m making. Journal works, but doesn’t feel exactly right; I’m making these with the intention of them being a kind of already-visually-stimulating-so-all-one-has-to-do-is-write-their-stuff-and-paste-in-their-ticket-stubs-and-what-have-you scrapbook. Ready made scrapbook? Smashbook with cheese? Suggestions are appreciated!

While making this book I learned a valuable lesson about leaving enough space inside. I thought when I made the paper signatures that I’d left enough space for embellishments, but I was overcome with the need to really make every page unique and special, and ended up over-stuffing by a lot. The decision to remove an entire signature proved harrowing, but worth it. The book is still just a tad full for my taste, but it can at least be added to now.

There are tons of folders, pockets, and tabs for slipping things underneath. The front cover opens to an original book page, and an accordion-style folder.

Pockets, pockets everywhere

The title of the book, “The Girl Scouts at Singing Sands,” helped me direct the theme for both this book and the one that will follow. I used ephemera and techniques that reminded me of the woods, the nostalgia of yesteryear, and childhood summer camp. I wanted to keep it eclectic and fun, but stay within a kind of unified theme.

Some of my favorite pieces of ephemera live here now, including this page from a vintage typesetter’s font book, and a postcard from 1904!

Attached to the spine are five charms on ribbons. Four are meant to be book markers with the remainder-a porcelain birdie-left out to decorate the spine. Birds are a subtle reoccurring element as what is a forest without birds?


There are three hinged, and two open-faced lockets that have been intentionally left blank. Adding tiny narrative pictures was a temptation, but ultimately I decided that to add personal tidbits to these secret little places is really what will make this book a treasure once completed as a scrapbook.


As mentioned earlier, this journal is way too big. The next one will have less pages, but more attention spent on the details within those pages so the quality will actually improve! When I look around for inspiration on Pinterest, the altered books that really catch my breath are so ethereal and dreamy, and I find myself irresistibly attracted to the sort of “layers of negative space” they exude. Those artistic beauties are wonderful to look at, but I’m not sure if they quite lend themselves to having anything new added-as a scrapbook would need to be. My focus for the next project will hopefully move more in the same direction of those journals, but stop short of becoming unusable.

The original library check-out card from the 50’s, and original book illustration

Some typical pages

A pocket of lace

I love that black ribbon so much. It reminds me of Grimm’s fairy tales and the deep, dark woods!

Thanks for slogging through the photo-bomb. I’m contemplating making a video to show all the pages but that sounds like some serious work. Let me know what you think! What do you look for in a journal?

End Transmission.


I have to admit, after I mailed the When Rome Burns journal to my friend Erin, I was extremely anxious about how it would be received. It was a little bit of how disappointed I was with the errors I’d made, but also there was that anxiety unique of sharing something you “made” that is a lot like standing around naked in front of people who have quite intense stares. There are many reasons that, despite several states worth of difference in proximity, I consider Erin one of my road dogs. One of those reasons is that even if she actually feels like I mailed her a turd, she is being extremely generous about not showing it.

Yeah! Suck on that, bucket of nerves!

In the meantime, I have been prototyping away. Not as much as I’d like to have been because, really, how the hell does anyone get everything done in a day that they need to? The tail of my to-do list keeps wrapping around to the next day and I just feel sleepier and sleepier thinking about it.

I got two slightly different prototypes completed so far. They are full of mistakes, but most of them are completely different mistakes so I take that as a sign of improvement.

I wanted to work on an open binding and just make a very basic book to practice the fundamentals of the process. Mostly basic, at least. I wrapped the cover and signatures in comic book paper just to see how it affected everything. I cut the flaps a little large and left  them unglued to add a little visual interest but next time I think I will glue them down. Plain grey cardstock in a red cover.

The next was an experiment with cover material and envelopes. I cut apart a wooden cigar box and drilled tiny holes, then I just sewed it right onto the signatures. I choose red sulphite paper because I liked how it plays up the colors of the cover art. The envelopes are cut from laminated sheets of an edition of a 1896 New York newspaper. I sewed them into the signatures along the inner seam before assembling them, and punched holes for a ribbon loop to tuck the flaps into. Because the back cover is slightly longer than the front cover I lined it with paper and just fastened a binder clip to the top to make good use of the space. First prototype: no storage. Second prototype: All storage. Sounds about right.

Like the first go at book making/altering/whathaveyou these projects didn’t feel like work, even when I was learning from a particularly infuriating mistake. And learn I did. I feel totally ready to start making “real” altered journals to potentially sell. My Mother-in-Law scored a box of the most perfect ruined old books to use as covers so I have about 12 to make as my first batch. I’m taking them two at a time; making slightly similar ones with every pair to stay efficient with the materials prep and focused on the theme. I even did some planning that translates as a (very) loose blueprint for me to use when designing others!_MG_6490

Because the two prototypes are so flawed I decided to just keep them and use them for Lulah’s scrapbook project. I inadvertently ended up with a theme of red covered journals in her scrapbook series, and using these guys would fit right in, in their own way.

I haven’t began cutting anything, but I have assembled the papers and ephemera for the first two hardcover altered book journals that have been on my mind for weeks now. “Woodland,” is what I’m calling them in my head, but I have no idea if that’s how they’ll actually translate.

Working on getting the old process streamlined. I know one of the next steps will be actually putting together this crap-pile of a studio in a way that it can actually be used. Right now any time Tallulah wants to play with play-doh, I have to clean up my book project stuff from the craft table. Oh all-seeing Pinterest, tell me what is in my future.

End Transmission.

While Rome Burns


Book binding and journal making always seemed like a mystical entities to me. So enticing, yet obviously too difficult and tedious to learn. I was content to scrapbook away and pine for those awesome, crazy-paper journals more savvy crafters sell on Etsy. Something recently changed, however, and I decided to try making one myself. Not just any old journal though. My heavens, no. I decided to jump right in and make a creepy journal for my friend, Erin, that contains not quite a mystery but more of a narrative to hunt for. I’ll attempt to explain.

Confession: In the movie Red Dragon, Ralph Fiennes’ character has this huge ledger he uses as his looney-toons diary full of cryptic and sinister writing, photographs, drawings, and carefully clipped newspaper bits. When I saw that thing I was in love. It would be like a dream (albeit a creepy one) to happen upon something like that carelessly being sold at an estate auction or laying around in an abandoned house and snatch it home to plumb it’s sinister secrets. Okay, take that and fast forward to just a few years ago when my in-laws brought an old dresser home for us from an auction and we found a trove of discarded ephemera in one of the drawers. The entire life of one Arlene Strickland had been condensed into a handful of papers and documents in a drawer. I’m talking driver’s licenses, senior citizen ID’s, High school diplomas, photographs, wallets, clippings, even a government report involving a terrible incident. Finding these things felt like tripping on a gold mine. Everything together painted such a candid picture of this stranger’s life, and yet left so much to be wondered about. Add to these things my friend Erin, whom you will learn a little more about shortly.

I had to let all of those things float around together for a while before they finally turned into this journal. When I did finally get the idea for it, however, I got it in it’s entirety. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and that excitement is what foolishly led me into jumping right into the project and using irreplaceable ephemera before making a prototype to catch all the bugs. This is why I’m a poor scientist. I feel the project was, in it’s own way, a success, but far from my vision of how it should have been. I had so many ideas while I was working on the book, and did so much research that led to new ideas that I could just kick myself for being so impatient.

Fortunately I have so many things of Arlene’s that I knew before I even started that it would need to be two book’s worth (otherwise there wouldn’t be anywhere for Erin to put her own stuff!) and have everything set aside to make a much improved second volume when the time is right.

I used a length of the original strap from my first accordion as the ‘belt’ that holds it closed. The small brass ball is a locket that was left blank.

Something I hadn’t thought of until I was already elbow-deep in the project was adding envelopes. It was too late to add them to the signatures themselves, so I begrudging had to let the three on the front and back covers carry the load. I tucked some photo corner stickers into the little red ones in the front ❤

Some of these papers and ephemera I have been holding onto for quite a long time. It was just too good to use on any old thing, but this was an A class project for me, so I was happy to finally get a chance to destash a little!

Here is where I need to tell you a little about Erin. The blood splatter pages are half part of the narrative, and half an homage to the way we met. The time was 2010 (?) and we were strangers, both peddling our wares on Etsy. I’m not sure what I was looking for, but a search brought me to a photo print in Erin’s shop that had an attached short story in the description. Reading that shit made the hairs on my arms stand up. There were more prints with more stories and I devoured them all. I would describe the quality of her writing as (excuse my french), “holy fuck.” Every story was brutally vivid and wonderful, but it was a story about a lady and her musings in the moments just before she has her skull cleaved in that prompted me to send her a gushing fan letter. Lucky for me she didn’t file a restraining order, and we’ve been homies since. The other page there features some vintage recipe cards turned tags that are a reference to an awesome vintage food party she had not too long ago. When I found out she was having that party I practically (maybe even actually) ran to the file where I had my 50’s Betty Crocker recipe cards to dig up some of the worst offenders to offer as entree ideas. Jellied chicken salad, anyone?

I tried to hide little details in unexpected places with fold outs and scrapbooked pages. that red thing is an emptied photobook from Arlene’s wallet.

Despite the many, sometimes unfixable, mistakes made during construction, I enjoyed making this journal tremendously. I’ve got a bunch of ideas to try out and many more prototypes to make, so hopefully there will be more to see on that front soon. Thanks for coming by!


End Transmission