The sink bowl and mirror frame in our half-bath both have lively Mexican-style patterns. I like them, but they don’t match. When I ran across a plain wooden tissue box at Hobby Lobby, I saw a way to bring the two designs together.
At first, our post-accident life left little time for anything beyond the basics. So I set up my supplies at one end of the kitchen counter. While soup simmered or the microwave defrosted, I drew part of a pattern on the box or painted a few swirls. It took weeks, maybe months. I don’t remember. But one day, I declared the project finished and showed it off to David. He recognized its significance right away.
God created the world. I painted a tissue box.
Creativity gives life. That minor project served as therapy, flexing a part deep inside me that had gone stiff and flat. And as David and I adapted and moved on, I edged back into writing. Through David, I found a great critique group. I love the process of writing, of refining my work and seeing it improve. That gives life and light.
But now comes the dark word: publishing. And the death word: marketing.