I drew a picture today

I put in my 2 pages today (3, actually), and then, for the heck of it, I entered a contest on the internet.

(Yesterday, alas, my progress on Hat Trick was a couple of cards written for the card box seed. I had to stay out of the house while it was fumigated).

The contest is to replicate the following image in one’s own style:


And here is my entry:


This marks the first time since I moved to Minnesota that I did an illustration start to finish. All the drawing I’ve done ’til now has been concept work or draft work. And, as I won’t have a book draft ready to produce for a good while, the pattern seems liable to hold.

thoughts occur

I’ll Die Well

A song sung by a fictional Celtic Metal band in a book I may one day write. Also sung by me before doing hard things because it puts me in a mood to give my all.

I’m lost and alone
Outgunned and surrounded
The hammer is falling
I can’t see around it,
And I’ll die well.

Death crawls from beneath me
Death falls from the sky
I’ve lived by the sword, now
The sword bids me die
And I’ll die well.

I’ve picked out a hill; drawn a line in the sand
And there will I fall because there will I stand
So come for my blood all ye forces of Hell,
And I’ll die well!

I push through my weakness and laugh at my pain
The strength of my foe shows the worth of my name
So try and unshackle me from this life’s fetter,
And I’ll die well!

But first you’ll die better.


A Christmas Song of my own devising:

Little old man with a big white beard,
In the town of Myra he is loved and feared,
‘Cuz he’s generous to a fault
With his fists in a sudden assault.

Cross him once, you might die.
He’s a storm of Justice in a blood-red sky.
When the man says jump, the wild beasts fly!
And they call him Nick.

It’s funny that you think that’s fat.
He’s got the Gospel of Matt as a prison tat;
He’s defending the faith with a baseball bat!
Jolly old Saint Nick.

So don’t be bold, wolf in the fold.
Sometimes a heart of gold just means it’s metal and cold.
When the Good Lord comes for the dead and the quick,
Quickest fists is gonna be Saint Nick

Cross him once, you might die.
He’s a storm of Justice in a blood-red sky.
Santa slays when the moon climbs high!
And they call him Nick!

I think I might work it up as a children’s book and read it in place of The Night Before Christmas to my offspring.