It's inspiring in a way, watching writers write. I don't mean sitting by them and staring as they clickety pickety tuck tuck tuck, back space, delete, delete... But watching their angst, and effort as they squeeze into their characters' heads and souls. All of my kids are writers and artists and each struggles mightily like Homer Simpson as he wrestled with an object yelling, "Why won't you be art?"
This sketch shows son, Ben getting into character. There be coffee of course. But what you don't see are the dog buscuits he just scarfed, or his teeth marks on the coffee table. And the fire hydrant...I don't even want to go there. But Ben holds his cards close, so I am always blown away when I finally get a peek at what he has been up to.
I don't want to jinx him, but the novel he is working on is somewhere between Hemingway and the Hardy Boys, William Carlos Williams and Martha Stewart's jail journal. The Desert Fathers and those little Hubba Bubba comic wrappers. You rock Ben.