Thursday, 24 September 2015

this is work, right?

Sometimes my publisher says, 'Jen, don't tell them how much fun we're having or they won't think we're working'. And it is like that. Sometimes. Occasionally. Okay, often. This time of year is particularly busy for kids' authors as there are all sorts of festivals and bookish celebrations going on(including Book Week which really should be renamed Book Month). Here's a quick rundown of what Jen Storer Children's Author has been up to.

I appeared (not out of a cake) in The Story Peddler's tent at the Melbourne Writers Festival. How gorgeous is this little venue? This is a Sally Rippin initiative. Most of you, even my overseas readers, would be familiar with Sally's work especially her phenomenally successful Billy B Brown series.  Sally's energy and creativity is boundless and I have no doubt this venture will go from strength to strength. I was so delighted to be involved! Please pop over to facebook where you can keep up with their whereabouts. Meantime, below is a sweet little video that will give you a peek into the shenanigans. (Dear reader, I wore a dreadful skirt that day. The weather was freezing and I had a last minute clothes crisis. A skirt with a side-split was such a Poor Choice. I groan with embarrassment whenever I reflect on it. Thank goodness you only see it for a 'split' second.)

Ensconced in the Story Peddlers Tent, I read from my forthcoming book, Danny Best: Full On. No bums in Danny's stories. No, no, no. Sally even put up a sign for me.
I have done a string of school visits lately. One visit in particular has stayed with me as the majority of kids were from asylum seeker families. Bright, inquisitive, enthusiastic children. It was an honour to spend time with them. My visit was supposed to be a session with the grade fives and sixes but in the end the entire school came along. 

I had a book launch! Yes, my new novel, The Fourteenth Summer of Angus Jack is officially Out Now. You can see the cover and the book trailer over yonder in the margins of this blog.

The book was launched on a gorgeous sunshiny day at my local bookstore. I was thrilled to have Judith Rossell, author of the stunning, illustrated novel, Withering-by-Sea, bust the bottle of bubbly (so to speak). Jude is also a friend of Lucinda Gifford's (the illustrator of Angus Jack) so the three of us managed to bumble through beautifully and have a lot of giggles. Of course, I was a little nervous about what Jude might say in her speech. She had mentioned she would probably talk about where Lucinda and I went wrong... If you were one of the sparkling crowd that day thank you again for coming along and making it so special. The Fourteenth Summer has galvanised my passion for illustrated novels and already Lucinda and I have plans for another. If you would like background information on the book plus lots of insider knowledge please take a squiz at (it's incredibly pretty and only went live today so you, dear reader, will be among the first to clap eyes on it). If you are an aspiring author/illustrator, a bookseller, librarian, parent or BELOVED READER it will give you loads of insights into the story and our creative processes. To purchase a copy of the book you can do so here or you can buy it from  

Judith Rossell, Esteemed Launcher. Lucinda Gifford looking on lovingly.
And yes, there was only one book for sale...  Hotly contested, dear reader, hotly contested.
I love this photo because you can see the sunshine pouring in. Also, Tan is hanging about in the background making her presence known. Bless her.
My friend, Sal Cooper, won the lucky door prize. Sal is an animator. Check out her stunning work here. One of my favourites is The Dawn Chorus. I love love love it! Sal had a studio near mine at the Abbotsford Convent. That was, until Sal's studio got invaded by bees and she had to move. It was awful! Like something out of a Stephen King novel. 
Here's the gorgeous illustration I had framed for the door prize. Much of the action in The Fourteenth Summer of Angus Jack centres around a ramshackle junk shop. When they see Lucinda's incredibly detailed illustrations many readers in the northern suburbs of Melbourne quickly guess which shop inspired me (it's a local 'off-beat' icon). 
Lastly, on Friday I attended a fabulous Author Day hosted by HarperCollins Publishers. This year the Melbourne event was held in the Herald Weekly Times building, Southbank. These author days are such a treat. Authors, illustrators and literary agents don't often get the opportunity to come together like this, to meet with the team (including the CEO and the publishing directors from each division), to be hear from all sorts of accomplished presenters (we even had a session with the dazzling Jaki Arthur), to learn, exchange ideas and enjoy fully-catered professional development. (The arancini balls were a wonder. There was lovely fruit too, dear reader, but I passed in favour of the scones). HarperCollins are incredibly supportive and proactive and hold their creatives in high esteem.  I came away totally zonked (information overload) and yet bubbling with enthusiasm and new ideas on how to run my Author Business (and it is a business, dear reader, make no mistake). By the way, I also had the chance to catch up with Alison Goodman. I have a reading copy of her forthcoming YA novel and I was busting to tell her how much I am LOVING it. It's called Lady Helen and the Dark Days Club and basically it's Jane Austen meets Buffy. It's one of those books you just want to live in. I would seriously love to go horse riding with Lady Helen. And I am terrified of horses, dear reader! When the book comes out I will flag it with you.

Time to go home and I am searching the skyline for Flinders Street station. Where is it???
And finally FINALLY we have moved house! I had a couple of weeks without my studio and without internet and I was demented. But I am pleased to report that nearly everything is now in order. 

We are getting to know the new house's quirks — the wonky latch on the front gate, the window blind that is jammed on DOWN, the scent of fried garlic and shrimp paste from a nearby Vietnamese restaurant, and the distant beats from the music venues. Oh, and the way the pink glass in our bedroom window catches the morning sun. We are settling in happily.

Until next time, dear reader, when I am planning an extra special, Experimental Post for you,
I remain
Yours under the teacups and bubble wrap.
Jen xx
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Saturday, 29 August 2015

the wheel of life

 I'm so sorry I haven't written in the longest time, dear reader. 'Get out!' I hear you say. 'You are a swaggering rogue, Jen Storer, and you have no right calling yourself A Blogger.' I understand if you only read on in order to laugh at my grammar. Or if you have already flicked me off in favour of Mary Tyler Moore reruns on Youtube. In which case you are not reading and, as my kids used to say, I am sad for that. 

'Nevertheless!' to quote Katharine Hepburn, here's what I've been up to.

In Year of the Spark, we've been painting like children. In this spirit, Carla (one of our teachers) recommended the most wonderful book (The Innocent Eye) and as I wait for the clipper ship to bring it to me I am trying to draw like I once did.  Did you always draw a flower under every tree, dear reader? And did everyone have visible teeth, AT ALL TIMES? (What a frightening world it would be.) I also had a fetish for drawing girls wearing ties. This is not because I went to some posh, Picnic at Hanging Rock, tie-wearing private school. It's because when I was eight I had a gorgeous, sleeveless orange dress with a white collar and a paisley neck tie. Since then every girl that springs to mind wears that same outfit. Perhaps I need to be more creative. But it's so...Tilda Swinton, don't you agree? 
Jean Dubuffet, 1944. He nailed it, yes??

I have been unashamedly ripping off Maira Kalman. I am so madly in love with her work and her sense of colour makes me swoon and I have discovered that copying her work gives me enormous insights into her creative process, the nuances, the decisions, the palette and compositions. Copy, copy, copy! It's a brilliant way to learn.
I've also been copying stills from my Wes Anderson book. Look at Adrien Brody. Just LOOK AT HIM! Right, moving on.

That's Maira on the left (ahem). My point of reference is 13 Words, the book she did with Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler). I'm sure I've told you about it before. The book is genius. A wonderful parody of the old school reader and such a joyful example of how children stray off track when telling a story. You know, 'and then they got in a car and they drove along and they were going to buy a hat for the bird but there was a baby working in the shop and the goat said...' Get the picture? It's a stunning book, visually and textually. (Gosh, did I just write a review? Surely not.)

Coincidentally, in my local art class (which doubles as my weekly therapy session with the glorious Katie Roberts) we've been studying colour so all this other stuff dovetails beautifully. 

I've been in Sydney, too.

And Brisbane. And Melbourne,(which is where I live). But this time I had to be here because I was presenting with the HarperCollins Children's roadshow. For Christmas. Yes, you read right. Christmas preparations are well underway in the publishing world. I felt so privileged to be involved. Myself and two other authors, Alison Goodman and Katrina Nannestad, city-hopped with the entire gorgeous, kids' publishing team and in each city we presented our latest books to an esteemed gathering of booksellers, librarians and other delightfully bookish luminaries. There were also lots of audio visuals and rollicking presentations about other books on the HCP Christmas list including the latest offering from David Walliams, the new Crayon book by Oliver Jeffers and the next madcap instalment from Tim Miller and Matt Stanton. All in all it was Book Lovers Heaven.

Here's my hotel room in Sydney. We stayed at the QT Hotel which is enormously theatrical and luxurious. I highly recommend it should you ever be high and dry in central Sydney. Look how pristine it is! But not for more that sixty seconds. I cannot for the life of me keep order in a hotel room. I am a born FLINGER. Which is why I get awfully nervous when travelling sans Himself. I lose everything. Constantly. From my earrings, to my phone, my shoes, my handbag and definitely All Important Papers. When Himself is with me the first thing he does is set up an IT centre and an official Place. He does! He sets up the phone chargers, the laptop and iPad chargers and centralises all bits and pieces including my jewellery (which if left to me, is the first thing to go missing). 
Next door to the QT.  I hung about  humming, 'Deep Water', but sadly Richard did not materialise.  I had the Good-bye Tiger album when I was a teenager (vinyl of course) and I used to play it every morning while getting ready for school. (I'm so drunk and the car won't go/ My crazy eyes keep lookin' out to sea).
Meantime, we are up to our oxters in packing paraphernalia as M Day draws ever closer. Half our worldly goods have already gone. Even as I pen this I am seated on a tea-chest, sipping Drambuie, wondering where the last eight years went. But never fear. Baxter Street is a state of mind and our new house is practically a mirror of this darling little place. Except, the new house sides onto a bluestone lane. Yes! A lane. How I love lanes! I can almost hear the clip-clop on the night cart's horse. I feel like a heroine in a nineteenth century novel. 
But more on the new digs soon.
Thank you for your patience and perseverance, dear reader.
Until next time (when I will be hanging curtains, and making biscuits in my new oven),
I remain
Yours in Spinning Colour 
Jen xx 
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Monday, 3 August 2015

oh, great journal, I am not worthy. even though you only cost as much as a (gourmet) pizza.

I bought this Strathmore journal about a year ago. Don't be fooled by its modest attempt to look ordinary. It was hugely expensive by my standards and the moment I got my hands on it (I bought it online so it was home delivered in a most auspicious manner), I felt a rush of pleasure — and a thump of dread. It was so beautiful, the paper was of such high quality, that as I opened it flat and cracked it's elegant spine, I felt entirely unworthy. In fact, I felt like a fraud. Every time I tried to use it my shoulders shot up past my ears and I became so tense I needed  an osteopath.  And what, dear Jen, did you draw on its sacred pages? Ha! It was so awful I began to recoil every time I saw the cursed thing. I swear, The Strathmore, (as it is wont to be called) began to mock me. On some creepy level I felt like Dorian Grey. I ended up stashing the damn thing under a mound of Frankie magazines. And for the next twelve months I avoided its demoralising jeers and went back to scribbling and scratching in my cheap Officeworks journals. The ones with paper so crappy it is more like the butchers paper I drew on as a child. But this weekend all that changed. Damn the cost. Damn the 'you're not an artist' demons. I'd been watching Mindy Lacefield again. I wanted to do a mixed media collage and I needed paper that would hold up. So I shoved the Frankies aside and hauled out The Strathmore. And this is what I made (see below). I used acrylic paint, water colour, layer upon layer of old dress pattern paper, matt medium, marker pens, glitter paint, coloured pencils, more or less anything I could get my mitts on. And do you know what? The Strathmore never flinched. It took it all with grace and generosity. For me, the experience was as humbling as it was liberating. Why do we do this to ourselves, dear reader? Why do we punish ourselves for being beginners? Why do we block ourselves when it comes to growing, expanding, trying new things? It's so perverse and such a pitiful waste of time. I remember when I was in primary school, there were two girls in my class, yes TWO, who had Derwent pencils. One of them I can't remember. The other, a dainty little thing, was nonetheless a champion swimmer. She had white blonde hair that had turned green from the chlorine. A champion swimmer and she had Derwents. That girl had it made. And every so often she would deign to let one of us Use Her Derwents. It was such an honour. And so nerve wracking. She would hover over us like a little green gannet, squawking warnings as we earnestly decorated our Social Studies heading or whatever it was. Her words, 'I do not want to sharpen them so don't press too hard' still ring in my guilty ears. 
Have we all had such humiliating experiences along the way? Is that what makes us so mean spirited towards our inner artist? Who knows. I don't have time to be Jung. But be mindful of it, dear reader. Be warned. No matter what you want to dabble in next, don't let the demons drag you down. Don't waste your energy wrestling with them either. Just acknowledge their presence, keep calm and carry on. In my experience that's the best advice. 
Now. I'm off to buy another Strathmore. Just you watch me. xx

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Saturday, 1 August 2015


I'm finding this exercise really helpful in terms of capturing ideas for stories. Putting a few sentences into an eight page book focuses your imagination and makes you build a little world where before there was just a jumble of lines in a notebook. In the lesson, Carla suggests that we have our story in mind before painting the background, which is great advice. Except, weirdly, the opposite is working for me. I am painting all these mixed media backgrounds and then I sit back and wait to see what the colours, textures and patterns evoke in me. The green and yellow in this one made me think of backyards in summer. Then, flicking through my old sketchbooks, I came across a random scribble I did when I bought my first box of water colour crayons (about two years ago). Waiting evolved from there. For me, entire novels have emerged out of such random beginnings and no doubt it's the same for most writers and storytellers. This is another reason I encourage all aspiring and emerging authors to play, play, play!

Some days are all about waiting.

Even the nicest moments feel empty.

Until the waiting is over.

(This needs an edit. I would delete 'back' if I did the spread again.)

Grabbing crayons like a kid in a lolly shop!

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Friday, 31 July 2015

The Weather Report

Using a variety of mixed media (and paper folding) techniques I've been learning in Year of the Spark, I have been making little eight page picture books.

It is so much fun, dear reader! If you are an aspiring children's author this exercise is doubly, triply, countlessly good for your soul and for your creative development. You learn all sorts of secret things in the process of doing this. It forces you to think about design and layout, perspective and technique. Loads of elements other than story. I am so grateful to Carla Sonheim. Not only is she hugely talented, she is also an incredibly generous and inspiring teacher. I need to get a colour photocopy of the original and then I can fold it and show you the end result. But in the meantime, grab a coffee, put up your feet and lose yourself in the rollicking saga that is, The Weather Report. Jen xx

It is cold and wet today.

But I have woolly socks.

And I have a brolly.

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Tuesday, 28 July 2015

freewheeling and loving it

We have to take a protractor to art class this Thursday, dear reader. The word 'protractor' has negative connotations  for me. Right off the bat I am reminded of the silly boys in primary school who enjoyed saying 'protractor'. 'Hand me that protractor'. 'I wish I had a protractor'. 'You've got a nice protractor'. Always this was said with the emphasis on pro. Apparently, lo and behold, pro was short for prostitute and this made protractor a fabulously deviant word. Honestly, those boys needed to get a life. 
Protractor is also linked in my noggin to mathematics. And rather tricky mathematics into the bargain. The kind that involves angles and whatnot and makes me want to curl up in a ball (with a very tight circumference).  
Lastly, in this week's context, protractor means COLOUR WHEEL. Now, can I just say right here that I hate the feckin colour wheel. I have studied it more than thrice already. Sure, the lesson always enters my brain on gentle, helpful sound waves but on impact it explodes into a cacophony of white noise. WHITE noise, dear reader. No sense, no joy, no colour. Now, my art teacher is such a darling that if I were to go to her cap-in-hand and plead, I know she would let me sit in the corner and doodle while the other students endure the colour/torture wheel. But I am not a deserter, dear reader, and while I might feel mutinous, I will endure.
Playing with colour sans a wheel. To freewheel (pardon the pun) makes me feel incredibly happy.

The thing about the colour wheel is that it is logical. And I have a huge aversion to logic when I am drawing, painting or indeed, writing. My aversion to the colour wheel is akin to my aversion to books on writing that prattle on about plotting and blue prints and scene breakdowns and character bios etc. I'm not saying there is no place for these or that I never use them. But my advice to aspiring authors is Approach With Caution. Many years ago when I was making my first serious scribbles, I almost gave up creative writing altogether because I could not write by the book. Being new and dewy eyed, and with a teetering stack of freshly churned out utter blah beside me, I assumed the reason I could not write in accordance with the instruction manual was because I was useless and lacked talent and was clearly devoid of anything remotely worth saying. I gave up writing for an entire year! It was only when a dear friend gave me a copy of The Artist's Way that I tentatively and then with increasing gusto began writing again.

But wait, there's more I want to tell you. Last week in art class we had all these scraps of torn up colourful artwork and we were asked to make a collage with them. I agonised over my collage and the final result was, quite frankly, revolting. I could not make it work and by the time I got home I felt demoralised and had a head like a smashed pumpkin I was so stressed. The next day I looked at my disastrous collage again and had a revelation. The reason I could not make it work was because I HATE PURPLE. I do, dear reader. I cannot abide it. Sure, other people make it work and I have often swooned over women (and indeed men) wearing purple to great effect. But I hate it so much it makes me feel sick. There is no purple in my house. Once, in the late 70s, I had a purple dress. But I was living in a sharehouse at the time and some fly-by-nighter stole my purple frock. Do you know what I said? Good riddance. I had never worn the hideous thing and I knew I never would have, no matter how long it dangled salaciously in my wardrobe. So that, you see, is why I could not make my collage work. There was simply too much purple in the scraps I had been allocated. It made my heart whimper and my enthusiasm for colour turn to nausea. 
Over the weekend I tore up my collage and began anew. This time I paid scant attention to the purple while considering more closely the yellows, reds and blacks. This freed up my intuition and allowed me to get back into the flow. The end result is no masterpiece but nor does it make me want to weep. Surely that is a good thing?
And so endeth today's lesson. I do hope I have not been too bombastic, but you see, I feel very passionate about these things.
Until tomorrow
I remain
Yours beneath a purple free, intuition-worshipping rainbow.
Jen xx 
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Sunday, 26 July 2015

a little arty link

I'm a bit nuts about Mindy Lacefield's work, dear reader. Have you come across her? Here's a gorgeous video of Mindy whipping up a mixed media collage. Moon Deer Coyote. Beautiful. Look what she does with colour! Gosh! Honestly, this video has me reaching for a canvas every time I look at it. And that's often... Mindy blogs here. xx

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Monday, 6 July 2015

shades and tints and everything in between

Sorry to bombard you with splotches, dear reader, but we are learning about mixing colour in Year of the Spark and I am jumping out of my skin. I tried to be systematic about it. But that went out the window about three splotches in. I had no idea how delicious this whole process would be. After all, I've read The Colour Kittens. I thought I was across colour theory... xx

Oops. I know Lynn said not to dirty up the white but...

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Sunday, 5 July 2015

any other day

Hello dear reader, some Rainy Day Rabbits that I drew for you. How is your weekend going, I wonder? It is rather brisk here in Melbourne. I bought a new cardi at the Gorman sale in the city yesterday and wore it IMMEDIATELY today. Even though it really was too cold for a thin cardi and I had to hide it under a coat for the better part of the day. Do you do that, dear reader? Do you wear new stuff the minute you get it home or are you more circumspect, more patient, than me? 
Excuse the poor lighting. It's dark green, dear reader. And pale, sort of Iced VoVo, pink.
I have been reading oodles of good stuff this past week or so. This includes two startling books by Manjir Samanta-Laughton. The first one, Punk Science: Inside the Mind of God, is a slow read for one as right-brained as yours truly and yet I am enjoying it immensely.  The second one, The Genius Groove: The New Science of Creativity, I read in 48 hours and am now re-reading (and scribbling all over). I adore it. I must say it is in desperate need of a good edit, but no matter. The content remains remarkable (possibly confronting for many) and Samanta-Laughton is certainly one of most engaging writers/ speakers I've come across in a long while. If you're into 'woo-woo' and quantum physics and the links between science and spirituality, do check out her work. There are plenty of interviews with her on Youtube, too. Google away...

Speaking of work (or indeed, woo-woo), my new book, The Fourteenth Summer of Angus Jack, goes to the printer tomorrow! Yes! Monday, Monday/ So good to me... Sorry. Some Mamas and Papas there. But golly, the word 'Printer' makes my heart flutter and my brain... gambol. The cover is almost, nearly, practically finished. It is awaiting some final design swishes including a splash of spot-gloss and some other sparkly embellishments and then I will have a lovely hi-res image to share with you. I do hope you will love it as much as I do. In the meantime, I am putting the final touches to a course I will soon be teaching on creative writing. It's for adults, dear reader, not kids. So, if you live in Melbourne and are at all interested in joining me for some writing tips and creativity high-jinx drop me a line and I'll pop you on my mailing list. 

In the meantime, I just ate a hot coffee scroll (with lashings of butter) and now I'm wondering what's for dinner. It's the cold weather, dear reader. The cold, dark weather...
Until next time
I remain
Yours in perpetual long johns
Jen xx 
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Sunday, 28 June 2015

colour, creativity and consciousness

Nothing says 'winter' like a jar of jonquils.
In the 1980s when I was a clerk in the public service I eagerly signed up for a staff development course. An entire day fully paid with no work? I would have signed up for karate, dear reader. However, as it turned out this was Creative Visualisation. I had no idea what it was all about or how it related to my job but it sounded...alluring. I still remember the teacher. I was besotted the moment she wafted into the room. She was effortlessly glamorous, with glossy red hair, massive shoulder pads and dewy skin. She was earning $500 per day running these courses and it made us gasp with envy. She was also planning a trip to Egypt to see the pyramids. Apparently she had a poster of camel drivers stuck to her bathroom door, a daily reminder of where she was headed — a type of vision board I guess we would call it today but it was a new idea to me and I liked the sound of it. When I look back on that day it occurs to me how arbitrary it was. This wasn't a course in speed filing, or how to fill in an 'N' form, or how to master DisplayWrite4, the newfangled word processing programme we were grappling with at the time. It turned out that Creative Visualisation was a technique for harnessing the power of your imagination in order to make your dreams come true. Well, I can tell you right now, dear reader, everyone that day was creatively visualising themselves out of the public service, myself included. Although, I must admit I can't recall precisely what dreams I  chose to work on. I was ill-prepared for such a delicious opportunity and, besides, I had long ago put most of my dreams in a sealed jar at the back of the wardrobe. I had 'settled down'. I had a mortgage and a wedding ring and a good job with flexitime. I do however remember one rather flimsy fantasy I managed to conjure up that day. We had to do the 'pink bubble' technique. This is where you close your eyes and imagine yourself doing or being or having something that your heart desires. You imagine it as vividly as you can, then place the image in a pink bubble (pink being the colour associated with the heart) and release it into the universe where it can float about, happily gathering energy for its manifestation. A pink bubble? Hmmm. Given my current circumstances all I could hope for was that someday, somewhere along the line, I would be doing something that required me to carry a briefcase. I know, dear reader! How feeble does that sound? I bet others were seeing harbour mansions, first class flights to Paris and brilliant stage careers. But you must understand, briefcases were extremely fashionable in the 1980s and I thought if it was ever necessary for me to carry one then it stood to reason that I would be doing something Rather Interesting, possibly even something swish — anything, dear reader, other than filling in 'N' forms and glaring at an insubordinate word processing machine. (Incidentally, I don't remember what an 'N' form actually was, only that I filled in hundreds).

Time went by, as it is wont to do, and I forgot about that day until about five years later. It had been a tumultuous five years during which I'd had a child, got divorced, moved interstate and bought my own house. I had also enrolled in an arts degree at university (a dream I had nursed since my teens). It was the middle of winter, I was struggling across a gritty quadrangle, buffeted from all sides by gale force winds.  I fought to keep my scarf around my neck, my coat across my body and MY BRIEFCASE of text books against my leg. From out of nowhere I remembered the pink bubble technique. My flimsy, ill-defined vision had become a reality. I was carrying a briefcase AND I was as happy as a lark. It was a startling thought, dear reader, and it stopped me in my tracks. Truly, the universe is astonishing. If it could manifest such a vague desire, give shape to such a wistful chimera, imagine what it could do if I got focused.

Just this week, while digging through some old journals, trying to make sense of my current trajectory, I found my copy of Creative Visualisation by Shakti Gawain. It was purchased in 1991 some years after I attended that initial course (I always write the date of purchase inside my books). This edition no longer has a cover. It is battered and annotated and it's spine is broken. In fact, it is crying out for gaffer tape. But this mangled classic still made my senses tingle and my heart leap. When I glanced through it I was transported back to my younger self. Back to the hopes, dreams and sparkling energy of those years. Since rediscovering this dear little book I  have thrown myself back into its teachings. I have also embarked on a spiritual quest that has re-energised me and led me to many startling discoveries. 

It feels good to be back on track, to have reconnected with 'Good Orderly Direction', as Julia Cameron calls it in The Artists Way. And while my intentions feel slightly more earnest this time around, I have nonetheless been busy releasing a veritable effervescence of pink bubbles. Without doubt I feel that 'these dreams or something better are now coming to me, easily and effortlessly, in total harmony and for the highest good of all concerned. So be it, so it is...'
Until next time
I remain, 
Yours in Perpetual Awe
Jen xx

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