Right now, the thing holding my brain together is a sketchbook. Technically more of an art journal, which I already have, but this one is different. This one is dedicated to filling as quickly as possible. I grabbed the closest notebook to me, and the closest art supplies, and went all the way through, making frames around every single page in the darned thing. No thinking at all, just frames with liquid watercolor daubers that are mostly on their way to the great supply closet in the sky. Forget concerns about paper weight. Forget asking if it would be good enough. Nope, watch sketchbook videos on YouTube and continue until every single page had a frame.

This picture is actually from a different sketchbook, but it’s mine, and the idea is the same. This was me trying out a soft pencil and blending stump. The “help” text is mostly there because it fit in the box. Still, it’s pertinent. I don’t have pictures of the sketchbook I’m talking about at present, and probably won’t until it’s all full. I am thinking maybe a flip through at a later date.

Improv session ended a couple of weeks ago, and the next one will be, I think, in August. Right in time for Real Life Romance Hero’s birthday, which I will appreciate. Next month will see the six month mark of his passing, and it’s taken me that long to figure out what I want to do for a very private memorial. It will involve some of his favorite foods and fond memories. Nothing formal, but it feels right.

Some of the lessons from improv are finding good use in my current sketchbook practice. Housemate shows me the cool tag from her new clothing item. Do I want that for my sketchbook? Yes, please. Straw wrapper from a local diner that has “biodegradable” printed on it? On the page. Random papery bits I find while I excavate the doom piles? That’ll do. No overthinking, very little thinking, and actually very few words. That both surprises me and doesn’t.

Time moves differently in grief. An hour can take forever and then three weeks can whoosh past so quickly that they knock a person off balance. I don’t make the rules. The practice of throwing images and colors and shapes on the page does things for the story part of my brain. I’m not sure how that works. I’m not sure I need to know. What I do know is that this new sketchbook lives in a hard shell case that travels with me, at home and outside. Spare minutes? Sketchbook. Waiting in line? Sketchbook. No idea what to draw? No problem. Not great at drawing? Shapes. Lines. Squiggles. Colors. Textures. Slap it down and move on along.

Do I know how this is going to carry over into writing? I do not. Am I confident that it is getting me where I need to be? Yes, I am. As with improv, blurt. Say the next obvious thing. My challenge for this sketchbook is that I have to use things I already own, preferably only things within the case, plus found objects, such as the straw wrappers and clothing tags.

That’s where I am going to leave it, because it’s late, and I have commitments in the morning. This, too, is blurting. Plopping whatever is in my head into the blog, slap a picture down and hit “post.”

What’s your next obvious thing?