Ann Bonny and A Foray Into Digital Painting

I have painted the female pirate, Ann Bonny, seven times now.  The first five were for a card game called Anachronism, published by Triking Games.  That game has since vanished from the shelves of your local game store, but the images I did for that game have drummed up more work than any other images I have thus far produced.  To boot, I get requests to use to one image in particular come regularly — around two to three a year.  This is that image:

©MK3 International

As much as I'd like to sell the use of this image to the various companies and individuals that have requested it, I simply don't own the copyright.  The parent company of the publisher does, for this was a piece done as work-for-hire.

At this point, I could take the opportunity to step into the work-for-hire debate.  It's a worthy debate, indeed, and one about which I have mixed feelings.  For those not in the know, work-for-hire is when all copyright (and in some cases even the original, if one exists) are purchased from the artist.  This prevents the artist from selling additional printing rights to other clients down the road, and in some cases even restricts how the artist themselves can utilize the image (be it in self-promotion or the manufacturing of prints).  While this might seem like an okay thing provided that the monetary exchange is advantageous to the artist, the truth of the matter is that more often than not the rates offered are far below what organizations like the Graphic Artists Guild consider to be fair.

Now, having gone through the trouble of bringing everyone up to speed, I'm not going to delve any deeper into the work-for-hire topic.  Instead, I'll leave you with the pertinent information regarding the piece above.  I needed the work, Triking was my highest paying client at the time, and work-for-hire is fairly common practice in the fantasy, gaming industry.  Unfortunately, being work-for-hire and not owning the copyright myself, I now miss two to three opportunities each year to make additional monies on a piece for little to no additional effort on my part.

Thus was the case a month ago when I was once again approached about using the image.  This time, however, I put some effort into sleuthing.  You see, despite the fact that I don't own the image, I thought it worth trying to hunt down those who do — either the folks at MK3 or (if they'd been dissolved) whoever may have bought the assets from them.  After doing a bit of research, I was unable to confirm whether or not MK3, as an entity, even continues to exist.  Nor was I able to find out if they'd been bought, or folded into a new company.  I made a go of contacting the folks who used to run the company and had limited success.

What was my end game for all the legwork?  Simple.  Admittedly, it seemed pretty unlikely that I would get any money out of the deal, but I could at the very least gain exposure.  I figured at the very least, someone could make a couple bucks and my work could see the light of day and reach a new audience.

Despite doing my due diligence, as fate would have it, my search had a rather anticlimactic end.  I never managed to track down anyone who could tell me anything useful.  There was no one to point this new client to and have them work out a deal.  Even in the month since, I have been unable to confirm or refute any of the conjecture I've heard, nor have I gotten a reply from those who would definitely know something.  In short, I had nothing to tell my potential new client.

So that's it, right?  Another opportunity lost.  Well.... not exactly.  Like I said, I've painted Ann Bonny seven times.  While five of those pieces are out of bounds, I do own the rights to  the other two.  In an attempt to salvage the situation, I offered up usage to either of those versions.

Immediately the client was dismissive of one of the images.  It was the image of Ann Bonny from the original Badass book cover (link).  I completely understood.  It's part of a larger piece and really didn't work for them out of context.  The second image was a black and white painting of Ann, done for the interior of the same book.

While this image intrigued them, the fact that it was black and white was kind of deal breaker.  Still, I thought I could help them, so I did the obvious thing: I asked them if they'd be interested if I colorized the black and white piece digitally.

They were a little leery.  I don't blame them.  My portfolio isn't exactly brimming with digital work.  In fact, there are zero digital pieces in my portfolio.  Still, I assumed that between my own limited experience, and my wife's far more vast Photoshop knowledge, we'd be able to give them something useful.  To allay their fears, I offered to give them a progress shot within a couple of hours and based on that, they could run with it or kill the whole thing.  They agreed and I went to work.

The short story is that I painted over the original oil painting in Photoshop.  CS5 if you must know.  I turned the oil painting into a brown monochrome image, converted the whole thing into RGB, and painted on top of that in a new layer.  It's mostly just the paint brush and smudge tools.  Nothing fancy.  About as straightforward as my oil painting, really.

I started with the head and hands and worked out from there.  Once everything above the waist was complete, I blocked in the rest and submitted the half-finished work.  They liked it enough to ask me to complete it and I did.  A couple hours of work, an extra couple bucks made, and a lot of lessons learned.  Not a bad way to spend the afternoon.  Anyway, here's how it came out:

Admittedly, I am still new to the whole digital painting thing, and I can't say that I'm in love with it as a whole.  Painting with actual paint is an experience.  There is a smell of oil in the air.  You can feel the painting's surface through the brush much as you can feel the road through the steering wheel of a car.  All that unevenness creates all kinds of happy accidents along the way.  You can move the paint around with your fingers or a paper towel, or any number of other implements that they haven't yet managed to simulate digitally.

Digital painting lacks a lot of this.  There is no smell.  The physical surface is smooth and even.  The stylus is more a fat pencil than a brush.  It's a little colder to me.  A little less exciting.  As a result, I have resisted the industry's trend toward all things digital.

However, I do recognize that it's just another tool.  A tool that, used properly, can do great things.  I can't say as I'm to that point yet, but I've finally started giving it a real try.  My toes have been dipped, and I've even finished off a couple of assignments digitally (mostly because it allowed me to easily give more than one option to my art directors).  Whether I'll ever get to the point where I'm doing a piece from start to finish without ever using so much as a pencil... well... I'm really not sure.  For me, having the painting as an artifact — having that physical embodiment of my labor — is still important.  But, without a doubt, in this instance digital painting saved me and salvaged a situation that could have easily fallen apart.  It allowed me to do something I simply could not have accomplished with oils in the time I had to do it.  And to me, there's not a whole lot to dislike about that.

Of Anniversaries and Other Holidays

I'm way behind.  I was hoping to get a few posts in recently, but both of our schedules (mine and Amy's) have conspired to keep me from having more than a few random moments' peace and I've chosen to utilize that peace for things other than this blog.  Namely making some headway on prep work for a personal piece which would create more interesting (hopefully) content for this here blog of mine.

The point is I've been a little out of touch and I chose today to write for a couple of reasons.

The first and most important reason is because this is my eleventh wedding anniversary.  Amy and I have been together for close to fifteen years total and this date, while not a round number, feels pretty important.  Our lives are in a fair bit of turmoil to be sure (what with Amy being out of work and all), and despite the stresses and chaos surrounding everything I must confess that we're still incredibly happy.  I like to think that I'm Amy's biggest cheerleader and I can say with authority that she's certainly mine, so it should be no surprise that we've settled into a fairly low level of worry which is buttressed by routine and an ever growing search for our next step.  Still, I feel it worth noting that I'm insanely lucky that someone would be daft enough to put up with my outbursts, generally grumpy disposition, impending baldness and occasional need for reassurance to stick with me for so long.  Either Amy sees much that many do not, or she's projecting a lot that isn't there.  Time will reveal all, I'm sure.

I'd continue on about how awesome Amy is and how great things are, but all that has an audience of one and I've got a bit bigger a theme to talk about.

Back in college, I had an illustration professor who assured me that at some point birthdays, anniversaries, and all the major holidays (including but not limited to personal, discretionary, bank and federal) would become meaningless.  He was of the opinion that the things that typically tie a person's schedule together (the days of the week and whatnot) begin to blur together in such a way that even those days which stand out will eventually become moot to illustrators as we are enslaved to the deadline.  In his mind, before long we would work through Christmas, sleep an all-nighter off on our birthday, be busy making revisions on our anniversaries and never notice.

Ten years into my career, I must confess that I have certainly painted on Christmas.  I have slept off a hard work of week on my birthday.  And I will be pushing paint today on my anniversary.  But as I am now my professor's age at the time he shared this opinion with me, I am happy to say that such a fate has not befallen me. 

What my professor spoke of was the danger of being an illustrator.  It is a possibility of what may happen, but I believe that it needn't come to fruition.  While I have certainly put in many hours on such days, they have never stopped meaning something to me.  And because I continue to cherish them, missing some of those days can hurt quite a bit.  But if I wanted my life to be pain-free and easy, I would have chosen a profession other than freelance illustrator.  (Of course, which other profession I might pursue is an impossible thing to say as so many professions seem to share this problem nowadays).

So how does one avoid those standout days from eroding into the background of our daily grind?  I think it helps to account for them as much as possible, and to accomplish that I think the key is balance.  Easy to type, difficult to achieve.  The work doesn't go away and the deadline still looms, but so do these important days.  How different illustrators deal with this issue varies.  Some just always keep a six day work week with one mandatory day off.  Others will just sacrifice when necessary, take the time off and do the all-nighter to make up for the lost hours if need be.  Still others keep vampiric schedules where they work while others sleep, sleeping little themselves.

Personally, I don't have a lot of answers.  My schedule while seemingly regular, varies in unpredictable ways.  Even if it were regular, paintings can sometimes unravel, last minute changes can be requested, and plans can be ruined.  It's one of the biggest downsides of the business.  Still, I try and adjust my schedule as much as possible, take the days off that I can, then deal with the fallout as it happens.  But I'm lucky — I have Amy's understanding and support.  If things fall apart, we'll arrange alternate days off and celebrate later if need be.  The dates begin to mean less, but the days themselves never become meaningless... if that makes any sense.

Though I can't honestly say that I've achieved true balance, I continue to strive for it.  And striving is necessary.  Otherwise, I'll never even get close.  Still, I know a lot of folks out there struggle with this kind of thing.  My biggest hope is that they find a system that works for them, and I hope they get the support they need while trying to find it.

Finally, I hope that you all — even in some small way — feel as lucky as I do right now.

More Sensory Deprivation

As I said in my original post about Sensory Deprivation, the image of someone with their eyes and mouth sewn shut is hardly a new idea.  For proof of this fact, I was pointed to another image by writer, Magic player, and sometimes reader of this blog, John Dale Beety.

©Wizards of the Coast

The image above is that of a card from a game once known as "Jyhad," but which changed its name (for what I think are obvious reasons) to "Vampire: the Eternal Struggle." 

What strikes one off the bat is that the name of the card is exactly the same.  So is the concept behind the image.  If you look at the bottom of the card, you'll notice that it has a copyright of 1995, and that the copyright is held by none other than Wizards of the Coast, the company which produces "Magic: The Gathering" (for which I produced the aforementioned Sensory Deprivation image).

©Wizards of the Coast

So.  You've got the same company.  The same name.  And the same concept.  Naturally, what Mr. Beety wanted to know was whether or not there was a connection.  Was this some weird callback to a game from sixteen years ago?  Did the fine folks at Wizards gravitate toward the sketch for this image for some meta reason?

As much as the answer "yes" might make for a good story, I'm afraid that the answer is no.  I went ahead and spoke to the art director, Jeremy Jarvis, regarding this image and he assures me that there was no conscious attempt at referencing the old image.  Nor was he aware of anyone working on the team (writers, concepters, etc.) who had also worked on Jyhad/Vampire.  It's also worth noting that the working title of the image wasn't even "Sensory Deprivation" to begin with, it was "Dead Senses."  Not a far stretch, but I think it further proof of there being no intended reference.

Of course, all this begs the follow up question of whether or not I was the one attempting the reference.  Again, the answer is no.  I've never played Jyhad/Vampire.  In fact, I've only seen cards from the game a few times.  And I hadn't seen this one until Mr. Beety sent me an image.

Why, then, are the two so similar?  Well, personally, I think it's mostly due to tropes.

I have no idea what Richard Thomas' art order looked like nor do I have any idea what his art director was looking for in the image.  Still, I think it's clear that both Richard and I were likely batting in the same ballpark.  The entire game he was working on was based on the tropes of horror, and that is what the Innistrad expansion set (which my Sensory Deprivation is part of) happens to be about, as well.  In fact, Innistrad is a virtual checklist of horror tropes.  Everything from werewolves, Frankenstein monsters, zombies and even the mobs of angry villagers are accounted for.  And the moment you have a bunch of these concepts at play, with all the stitched beasts and medieval torture that buttresses such things, I think it was only a matter of time before someone broached this idea — especially because the concept works so well with the game mechanics and also because the idea itself is not fictional, which in turn perhaps makes it all the more horrifying.

Given all that, I think it's pretty safe to say that Richard Thomas and I were not only shooting for the same kind of Gothic atmosphere common in such horror tropes, but we were likely both trying to find the most horrifying way of depicting what is clearly the same concept. 

Despite all this, there are some key differences that I think are obvious, but worth noting.  Whereas I stopped at the sewn eyes and mouth, Richard pushed the idea even further with sewn ears and nostrils.  If I'm honest, I got really hung up on the visceral tugging of the mouth and eyelids and just never took the next leap.  Part of me wishes I'd thought to.  Also, my image has more of a mid-struggle approach, whereas Mr. Thomas' image leaves one with quite a different vibe.  There's still struggle — the tension is clear as day — but with everything so sewn shut completely, there's an air of finality, of futility, which depending on the kind of person you are may be even more disturbing.

What strikes me about all this is just how similar the pieces ended up being in palette and composition.  The fleshtones are a little pallid with hints of pink, the hair in both is fairly dark — even the backgrounds have a bluish hue!  Also similar is the scale.  We both went for closeups of the face for a good, clear shot.  These similarities can't just be coincidence, can they?

I'm betting they're not.  I looked at the idea of someone in such a condition and figured that they wouldn't get out much.  Hence the pallor.  The pinkish bits are born of the blush of frustration and tension.  And I chose blue for the background because it sits well and because it would offer up opportunities to pull that color into the face in fun (for me) ways.  Composition was mostly due to a factoring in of reduction.  I had to make sure that everything read clearly when shrunk down.  It's entirely possible that Richard Thomas' decisions were made in a similar fashion for similar reasons.  Or, it could be that we've both seen the same image at some point — be it from a movie or an old painting somewhere — that stepped forward subconsciously to help guide the reins.

Either that or Richard Thomas and I are the same person.




We're not the same person.

Sensory Deprivation

Up front, I'm going to warn everyone reading this that it contains an image that is easily among the more disturbing that I've ever painted.  Some might find it pretty hard to look at and if you're not into looking at what is essentially torture, then I suppose you might want to skip this post and catch up with me later.  That being said, it's a new image and I thought it worth sharing.

So, this is the last image I have to show for the new Magic: The Gathering, Innistrad expansion set.  It's called Sensory Deprivation, and it began its life with this description:

ART DESCRIPTION:
Color: Blue spell
Location: Unimportant
Action: This is an abstract piece representing the loss of a person's senses. Show an extreme close-up of a man or woman whose eyes and mouth have been replaced by wrought-iron bars like the windows of a prison. His/her mouth is open as if he/she is screaming, but there are bars in front of the dark, toothless mouth. His/her pupils are gone, and bars cover the eyeless sockets.
Focus: The victim
Mood: My senses are dead to me.

There are a lot of images that flashed through my mind upon reading the above, and in a way, it's more than a little disturbing that the wealth of ideas that did come came so freely.  But it's the nature of my personality, my influences, the books I read, the films I watch, and the genre I've been neck deep in for the last decade.  It's also the partially the result of all the horror flicks I've been forced to watch over the years by my wife and friends (I'm personally not a fan).

Here then, are the top three images I tossed the way of Wizards for their consideration.  They are done initially in pencil and then very sloppily added to with digital paint.  While they are among some of the worst sketches I've ever handed in, their frantic nature belied the vibe I was going for, so I went with it.

©Wizards of the Coast

First up we have the literal interpretation of the image described.  I'm not going to lie, this was also my least favorite.  In fact, I felt like I might have seen the image before, but they asked for just such a thing and I thought it wise to give it to them.  Still, I wanted to try to add my own spin, so back to the drawing board it was.  Here's where that exploration took me:

©Wizards of the Coast

Given that we were dealing with more of a metaphorical image to begin with, I thought it might be interesting if the bars weren't just a fixture in the various sockets, but rather a fully realized physical entity that the face had somehow intersected and grown around, much the same way that a tree will begin to grow into a chain link fence only to eventually envelope it.

The main problem I had with this image was that it smacked of Terminator 2, but since the entire set of Innistrad was about horror tropes, the image being familiar wasn't necessarily a problem.  What bothered me was that it fell short of how visceral I wanted the image to be.  There is less room for struggle in it than I wanted.  It somehow needed to be more about struggle and the physicality of that struggle.  So I took it into a new direction with less a metaphorical twist and more a realistic one.

©Wizards of the Coast

Let's face it, sewing a mouth and eyes shut is hardly a new idea.  But, it was the perfect way to get across the struggle and victimization that I wanted to really nail.  This is, after all, something that has been done to someone.  Bars in the eyes and mouth just don't have that same feel.

Now, on a business note I think it worth stating that under normal circumstances, when handing in multiple sketches, more often than not, the client will decide to go with the image the illustrator is least interested in fully realizing.  This has happened to me on many occasion, but somehow didn't happen with this go around.  They saw the third version, and decided that sewing was better than bars.  So off to work I went.

The first thing I did, as usual, was to hunt down reference to bolster the concept as much as possible.  Then, I added to that some rather embarrassing reference photos of me struggling on the floor that my wife took.  Upon seeing these photos, I decided that the opportunity to turn this piece into a self-portrait was too good to pass up.

Once everything was collected, it was all about the paint, and let me tell you this painting went FAST.  It now holds the record for the fastest Magic piece I've ever painted clocking in at a tiny bit over 17 hours.  It's not quite as visceral as I'd like it to be, but it's far looser than I typically work and was a lot more fun than most.  And here it is:

©Wizards of the Coast

It's 12"x9" oil on hardboard.  And here it is in card form:

©Wizards of the Coast

Curiously, the image being a self-portrait turned out to be kind of prophetic.  In truth, I feel about as bound as that image depicts.  As I write this, I am going through one of the worst bouts of creative block I've ever been through.  Thankfully, my professional work hasn't suffered.  Unfortunately, my personal work has.  I'm completely and totally lost in my attempts to pull together a personal piece or two that I am hoping to show at IlluxCon this year.  I have spent the last week trying to cobble together something that I actually want to paint.  Figure out some though or feeling that I want to convey.  Thus far, I just can't seem to get anything off the ground.  Not with any sort of confidence, anyway.

I have thrown out two ideas that I'd put a fair amount of work into, and the one I like still feels half baked enough for me to set it aside for a while.  I like the image, but I want to do it right and I know that my head space just isn't right for it just yet.  All the cogs have not clicked into place.

The overall problem may be that I have thought about this all too much.  Or perhaps too little.  I have no idea.  What I may try is to go in without any plan at all and see what happens.  It's entirely possible that I'll need to be as blind as this self-portrait to see my way out of things.

The Grimoire

So, I've been off the radar for a little while due to a variety of issues ranging from the distractions of work to now having to share our household's sole computer with someone trying to build a website for herself in the name of finding a new job.  For the next couple weeks this spotty posting will likely continue, but I do have some interesting tidbits planned — some of which I will unabashedly hint at in this very post.

But I digress.

So, Magic's expansion set of Innistrad has been revealed and along with it a couple new pieces of art.  The one I'm going to talk about to day is the Grimoire of the Dead.  What's a grimoire?  It's a book of magic.  So it's a book of the dead.  A magic book of the dead.  Never heard of that one before, have you?  You have?  Oh.  Well this is one of those.  Here's the art order I received:

ART DESCRIPTION:
Color: None (artifact)
Location: Unimportant
Action: Show a large tome bound in human skin with finger bones along the spine. Show it on a creepy pedestal. Maybe there are demon heads carved into the pedestal.
Focus: The evil book
Mood: Check this book out. Go on, I dare you.

Pretty straightforward stuff for a book of the dead.  Well, standard if you read and watch a lot of horror.  The first thing I did was went through the shelves of books I own.  Several of said books are very old — early 20th Century old.  While not ancient, they have a well-used feel to them and they're leather bound.  It was a good start.

So I start drawing various versions of the book.  I ruled out early on having a clear face on the cover of the book as that's been done with so many previous necronimcons (necronomica?).  Still, I wanted to have a clear bit of humanity in there to drive home that it was bound with human skin.  It needed to be instantly identifiable.  In the end, I though it would be nice to reference the finger bones on the spine of the book and have a clear hand on the cover.  But just the skin of the hand, of course.

I added a clasp for the book carved from a jawbone with the teeth slipping just over the front cover, designed a pedestal, then drew it all up and sent it off.  This was the sketch:

©Wizards of the Coast

As suggested, I put some demon and devil heads into the pedestal design.  In truth, it makes for a pretty bland sketch and if I'm honest, I was worried about the finished piece being equally bland.  Still I had a few tricks up my sleeve: lighting and mood.

So, I shot reference of one of my older books in my creepy basement, then went online to start a search that undoubtedly landed me on some sort of watch list: I began to look for images of human leather.  I was actually kind of happy to find a relative lack of imagery on the subject, but what I did find was... helpful.

Once the collection of reference was complete, I went to paint.  This is the finish:

©Wizards of the Coast

It's 12"x9", oil on hardboard.  And here it is in card form:

©Wizards of the Coast

As you can see, they've cropped in a bit on the image for clarity's sake.  This is something I generally don't care much about.  They have to do what's best for their product and generally make pretty decent choices.

Now, one of the questions that comes up frequently is how I know what things are supposed to look like in these pieces.  For example, how did I know what the devils on the pedestal looked like?  While I should probably have addressed this as a frequently asked question sometime earlier, I'll give you all the short answer I give at appearances now, but I must confess that I had a pretty good idea to begin with.

For each expansion set, a book is created called a style guide.  It's a visual bible for each Magic plane that gives the 80-90 artists working on a given set a baseline example of architecture, fashion, creatures, landscapes, etc., so that they are all clearly illustrating the same world.  Sure, they bring they're own stylistic choices to the table, but there need to be certain design consistencies to keep the artwork feeling connected.  And that's the guide's primary purpose.

But who creates the style guide?  Well, that depends on the set.  There is certainly a consistent cast of characters involved with each guide, but the contributing artists tend to rotate in and out.  For this world, Innistrad, I was fortunate enough to be one of the artists.  And at some point soon, I'll share with you all my experience, the specifics of what I contributed, and maybe if I'm lucky I can get a word out of those who sat beside me, as well.

9/11

Ten years ago, I was living in Woodside, Queens, waiting for my wife to make it home from downtown Manhattan.  When she finally caught a train and arrived back in our neighborhood, I ran out to meet her.  The relief I felt was indescribable, but unfortunately was not something universally experienced.

Several months later, the Society of Illustrators commemorated the events of that day with a show that I helped hang upon its walls.  Asked if I had anything to contribute, I sheepishly said that I'd started a piece but admitted that it wasn't finished.  I was encouraged to finish it and add it to the show.  This was that piece.

It's not brilliant — in fact, I wouldn't say it's particularly good...but, it's all I was capable of at the time.

343

I think the piece is 16"x20", oil on canvas board, and I wish it was a more fitting tribute to what this day represents to so many.

Here We Go Again...

So, some of you have got to be wondering why the blog has been so spotty of late, or where the heck the daily progress shots are on that personal piece I trumped up.  Others of you have no doubt just assumed the lapses are due to my being too busy, if you were aware of them at all.  Either way, I shall do my best herein to explain.

Truth be told I have been toiling away on several posts of varying subject matter, but I'm having a very difficult time finishing and editing them.  I've found myself fussing over their various arcs and wondering if they're getting the correct point across.  Meanwhile, I've been busy with a bunch of paintings that I can't show at the moment, as well as weird paperwork stuff, the compiling of a list of my available Magic paintings and their prices (which is now up on my website), several weeks of family visits, and... well, fretting.

I'm currently nervous as all get out because Amy has run into a pretty severe snag.  She's lost her job.  I'm not going to get into specifics here, it's neither the time nor the place.  Suffice it to say that a mere 10 months after moving here, our lives have been thrown into utter chaos and Amy is now forced to find another job.  While we are angry and feel a bit betrayed, above all we're worried.

In the past, both Amy and I have spent time unemployed — heck, sometimes simultaneously — but we never really sweated it back then.  Why should we have?  We had nothing to lose.  Now, with an apartment that just isn't selling in New York, a rental place in Massachusetts, a car, and the various expenses that come with these things (not to mention the worst economy that most have ever seen), there's suddenly a reason to take pause.

What's the plan?  Well, Amy's search for a new job has already begun.  While we'd like to stay here in the Boston area, there is a real possibility that we may end up right back where we started in Jackson Heights.  Still, we're going to shoot for the moon and have decided that the search needs to be far wider, so we're looking not only in Boston and New York, but across the nation, as well as internationally.  The way we see it, we don't have any kids or pets so there's really no need to limit ourselves.

Alright, this is nice and all and I've managed to explain the lack of updates and the worried thing, but where's that personal piece I promised?  Simple, we've had an inkling that Amy's place was tenuous at best for a while now.  Rather than take the time off I needed, I decided we could use the income more.  Turns out I was right.  However, I'll be trying to hammer out a personal piece in the coming months running parallel to my regular work so that I have something decent for IlluxCon in November.  Hopefully, it'll come together.

In the meantime, I'll continue to be at least a little worried, and I won't be the only one.  Sitting next to me for the foreseeable future will be Amy.  We have not had the luxury of spending this much time together in almost ten years.  It'll definitely take some getting used to, but I plan to enjoy it as much as possible.

Finally, it's important to note that we're not just worried.  We're also optimistic.  To be honest, in some ways it hasn't exactly been the best 10 months or so.  We love the area and the people here, our marriage has been the best it's ever been, but there have been issues that will soon be behind us.  Perhaps this 10 months and the frustration, anger, and hurt that have come with it will be the small price to pay for the dream job.  Perhaps this was just our first step out of New York.  Whatever the case may be, we're battening down the hatches, tightening our belts, rolling up our sleeves and spouting off clichés.  Where we'll end up is currently a mystery and the anticipation is killing me.