The Wordy Metalsmith

I've hit a dry spell in my book's progress. I try to pretend it's not happening, but in the last two weeks I've come to a standstill. I think the editor part of my brain is pissed off at the writer part.

WRITER: Wheeee! I am a genius! Look at what I thought up!
EDITOR: I don't like it..
WRITER: WAAAAAAAH. I think I will become a sheet-metal worker.

Cause THAT makes sense.

I checked out a bunch of Maker sites and SAIT.ab.ca to see how long it would take to learn how to work with sheetmetal. Then I decided I would probably be happier working with precious metals, so I checked out the BFA in Jewelry at the Alberta College of Art. Which led to Pinterest, as all things do. Two hours later, I was no farther along in my work, but I had amassed quite the archive of mushroom-focused movie art, found out where in London a particular Gucci velvet smoking jacket was marked down to just three kabillion dollars, AND began an appreciation of hammered copper as wall art that led to me sending a fan letter to a Finnish coppersmith.

Who wrote back. Like 11 pages wrote back. She's hit a dry spell in her progress as a beater of copper and all she can think of to do is become a writer.

We're meeting in Denmark this spring to discuss a partnership.

Miracle Cure!

If I were wearing these Stuart Weitzman shoes, I wouldn't feel worn ragged in the slightest, even while, for example, hopelessly scraping burned oatmeal out of a brand new pot while the laundry churns out a pair of socks so that I could go outside. In these, I would not even need socks. Although perhaps (let me check. . . oh dear God, no) CERTAINLY I would require a fancypants pedicure before going anywhere even remotely populated with the non-blind.



What's this? ON SALE, you say?

Dilemma of the day: Hogwarts Lego to make six-year-old believe in Santa Claus OR mincing-down-the-Croisette heels for newly dreamy lilting mommy with Mediterranean clouds in her no-longer-bleary eyes to make six-year-old believe in home sweet home?