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estdeus_innobis[Early morning of Saturday, July 3 (day 398)]
[At home with breakfast, making plans]
It is a pleasant morning; I admit that we had nothing like this in Dunwich, certainly not in the heart of town. There was always a certain closeness to the gabled streets, a certain grounding warmth to be found in the weathered brick. But this day is a balance of spring rush and summer warmth, and I feel my spirits quickening.
I have lain fallow too long; it does me no good to leave my plans unrealized. Nothing of note was ever created by one who could not move past the stages of planning.
I have, I believe, settled on on my next course of action. I am oddly taken with the idea of collecting something small, something familiar; a stepping stone on the way to a proper work, the collection of the only striking attribute of an otherwise unremarkable being. I do wonder if I could make something remarkable of that--her entire face turned into a frame for her eyes, the delicate sockets and trembling flesh--but in all honesty, I expect she cannot be much more than another canvas. I completely understand Morningstar's need for my last work, but there is certainly nothing to keep me from starting over again, and I expect it will do me good.
I imagine it would not be that hard; she does occasionally stop by, and the shop (such as it is) is never very busy.
[Closed]
[At home with breakfast, making plans]
It is a pleasant morning; I admit that we had nothing like this in Dunwich, certainly not in the heart of town. There was always a certain closeness to the gabled streets, a certain grounding warmth to be found in the weathered brick. But this day is a balance of spring rush and summer warmth, and I feel my spirits quickening.
I have lain fallow too long; it does me no good to leave my plans unrealized. Nothing of note was ever created by one who could not move past the stages of planning.
I have, I believe, settled on on my next course of action. I am oddly taken with the idea of collecting something small, something familiar; a stepping stone on the way to a proper work, the collection of the only striking attribute of an otherwise unremarkable being. I do wonder if I could make something remarkable of that--her entire face turned into a frame for her eyes, the delicate sockets and trembling flesh--but in all honesty, I expect she cannot be much more than another canvas. I completely understand Morningstar's need for my last work, but there is certainly nothing to keep me from starting over again, and I expect it will do me good.
I imagine it would not be that hard; she does occasionally stop by, and the shop (such as it is) is never very busy.
[Closed]
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