on the way to the grocery store

Walking up the stairs from the subway (I walk the stairs for exercise) something shiny caught my eye:


So, I stop to see:

And get a closer look:

A nice message for the day!

final fish?

Long-time readers of my blog posts may remember when I was tormented by fish (from this post and this post)--images of fish seemed to swimming in my subconscious, popping up at me randomly and incessantly, as if reminding me that I needed to make a fish book. I thought I had exorcised them when I wrote Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, where a goldfish's voice is finally heard. That, I thought, would be the end of my bizarre fish sightings.

But I was wrong. Today, in the mail, I received this mysterious package:
Strangely, it seemed to be for to one and from myself (but I didn't send it, at least I don't think I did).

Inside is a small white box that contains a....


What?

Yes, it's some kind of fish pin--a real fish encased in resin, then made into a pin.

Accompanying this box is a card that is addressed to "Megan" from "Judith." I don't know a Megan (spelled this way) or a Judith. And who is Andrew? A husband? Son? Boyfriend?



Very curious! Very mysterious! It's like a beginning of a novel! Perhaps it is some sort of sign, a message that there are more fish wanting to be set free from my subconscious. That another fish book is in my destiny.

Or that I just opened Megan's birthday gift from Judith. Sorry, Megan!

The Story of Paint

I don't know about the rest of the illustrators in the world, but I get very attached to my paint. I've used the same brand for the last 13 years and I love it. I know how it will mix and blend and dry.

So, I got very upset when my local art store stopped carrying it. Worse yet, I couldn't order it, couldn't find it online...nothing! Had I imagined Turner Design Gouache into existence? Finally, after hours of searching I found a phone number and address of the manufacturing company, located in NYC.

Which began a series of somewhat sketchy phone calls. Yes, they could sell me the paint, a woman with a strong accent Asian accent said to me. I could send her an e-mail, but she wouldn't be able to reply because she didn't have Internet access (?). It would be best if I came to pick the paint up in person. I could leave the payment with the guy in front and he'd give me the package. Oh, and could I pay in cash?

What was this, drugs? I was going to NYC anyway, so even though I thought it was odd, I said yes to all of her requests. Even with fears of some sort of random police paint bust.

The truth was, I didn't care. I wanted my paint. I needed it. Okay, maybe this paint IS some kind of drug...

But I got it. The actual exchange turned out to be fairly anti-climatic, the woman was actually a quite friendly Thai artist living in a nice condo building. The only unexpected thing was that my paint weighed about 20 pounds. I had been so worried about the paint's future availability that perhaps I overbought a bit. Oh well, at least I know it will be a while before I have to go through this again!

the fold

Fellow Fusion author, An Na's book "The Fold" just came out today and I look forward to reading it with great interest. In it, an Asian girl is offered the chance to get plastic surgery done on her eyes to give it the coveted caucasian eyefold.

And this surgery is quite common across Asia, especially in Taiwan. Having those eyefolds are mandates of beauty; something I experienced up close and personally.

Because at my photo shoot for my new author photo (my new novel is a Chinese folktale-inspired fantasy--since it takes place in an imagined reality, I thought it fit to have the author photo be a bit of a flight from the imagination as well), my eyes were the first thing that were changed. The make-up artist, after taking off my glasses, cut pieces of thin plastic and glued them to my eyelids and, voila!, I had eyefolds. I had misgivings about the entire procedure but was persuaded by the studio workers' coos of admiration.

And that is how they took me bouncing into the studio looking like this:



and changed me into this:

Yikes! (I also was instructed not to smile in the photos which is why I am smirking in all of them). Obviously, I have regrets.

Because now I, the me I know, am unrecognizable in the photos (the only good ones were the ones where I was looking down when the fake folds were not as noticeable). I realized, in that moment I allowed myself to choose between being "beautiful" and myself, when the original goal of the photos was to achieve both. I hope the character in An Na's book realizes the same.

go fish

Just wanted to let you know I am still being tormented by fish. Even though I am at a loss of what all these fish want from me, they continue to invade my presence. You'd think while I'm biking, I would be safe(because you know how much a fish needs a bicycle). But witness this recent photo of me, taken just a mere five days ago. See anything fishy?



Fish, fish, fish...there's a caldecott somewhere in there. Or a trip to the psychiatrist.

tormented by the subconscious

Recently, I have been obsessed by goldfish. For some inexplicable reason, I am drawn to them. I feed them at the lake:



I spend too much money buying decorative paper with goldfish motifs:



And I eat goldfish crackers as if I'm starving:



Usually, this means there is a story idea brewing. The last time this happened was when origami animals seemed to envelop me. They kept appearing and reappearing (even though I couldn’t fold a paper crane to save my life) until I finally gave them their own book in “Lissy’s Friends.”



So now, obviously, there must be goldfish swimming in my subconscious that are demanding to be set free. Of course, I don’t know how to do this. Any ideas? Do you guys ever suffer the torment of an idea wanting to be formed?