I’ve been a storyteller for most of my life. The only child for seven years, I was forced to find creative ways to entertain myself without driving my mother crazy. At the time, we lived in the country on my grandparents farm which was located at the end of a long and seldom traveled dirt road.
I spent a lot of summer days, playing on that road. For me, it was a doorway to far and distant lands and a blank canvas where I could paint a colorful world. All I had to do was draw a boat, a car or a horse in the middle of it and I’d be on my way, playing until the sun sat behind the mountains and fireflies dotted the night sky. I haven't been on that road or back to that farm in years, but I'll never forget those days. That dusty dirt road made me the writer I am today. It helped me expand my imagination and allowed me to dream.
This picture above is from one of my walks and used to be the dirt road in front of the farm where I live now. Several years ago, the county paved it which makes it nice for my early morning and evening walks. But sometimes I miss the smell of that dusty road and the adventure of my childhood imagination.
My creative process has changed over the years. I no longer draw boats in the dirt. But I do sketch and paint, mostly in watercolor. But sometimes I use acrylic for my pour paintings. It's a great way to relax and meditate on something other than words.