When I work on my novel for hours it begins to feel as though it is more real than real life. As though all that's around me feels like a fiction. That gets kinda weird. (schizophrenic weird?) I was in the rain, in Paris, and came to realizing I was in fact in Southern California and that the strange noise I was hearing was a humming bird dive-bombing next to my window. This is by the way an ugly-ass sentence, sure sign that I need a break.
When I need to come up for air I spend a few minutes in the world of blogs (also not real, I should be reminded.)
Via this amazing blog (can't ever pronounce it, can't spell it) I just discovered the art of Lulie Wallace, the artist who did the cover of this month's House of Fifty. I thought I should take a few minutes to share all this beauty and energy:
Oh Gaaad it's so beautiful! I have a weakness for flower paintings and these are just a small miracle. I want them ALL!