A few days ago, I claimed that the experience of reading a really bad book had demolished my ability to read any novel-length fiction for nigh on a month.

But that’s not true. Sometime over the weekend, I recalled that I actually did read a book immediately after finishing the bad one — my boss had lent me a copy of Stephanie Meyer’s teenage vampire love-story, Twilight, and I figured I ought to get it read so I could return it.

That I completely forgot that I read it is not a commentary on the book itself, I think, but rather is a statement of how fried my brain was after finishing the other book.

Twilight is actually not too bad, for what it is. I’m not particularly enamored of vampire stories or straight romance-for-romance’s-sake novels, but Meyer is a compelling tale-teller who whips you through 500 pages of teenage angst at a good clip. Her characters are sharply drawn and appealing — I totally get all the swooning over the male lead I’ve read about online the past couple years — and her prose is solid. I think it could have been a little shorter, myself; too much courting goes on (it’s a romance, after all) and for the first three-quarters of the book the tension is all about, “oh noes! i’m in love with a vampire!” But the action picks up at the end, so that you feel like something actually happened in the story aside from a lot of talking about what a bad idea this whole relationship is.

In short there are a lot worse things one could spend their summer days reading.

Believe me, I know.

As I see it, it’s the journaling that really makes this magazine a keeper. We’re surrounded by beautiful photography everywhere, but there’s nothing that puts together words and images quite like Life Images does. Heartfelt, endearing, poetic … true. There’s just something very true about all these pictures and the words that accompany them. Encouraging our contributors to find words that were just as powerful as the photos they submitted was very important to me in this issue, and I think I succeeded.

“…that night my son didn’t say a word when he found me. He didn’t even question me about why I was crying. Instead, he sat there on the floor beside me and put his arm around me…” (Angelina Dominguez)

“…One day he collected he petals of a red flower, a pitcher of milk, and a needle. He went deep into the forest on the night of the first full moon. He pricked his finger, allowing a single drop of blood to fall…” (Diane Keys)

“…It is moonlight leaking on soft skin, a worship song rising within, waterfalls and road trips on mountaintops. The way the breath gets knocked out of you seconds before a symphony plays and the climax of every instrument tin unison…” (Kara Troglin)

“…I discovered that exactly the same door had mesmerized my grandmother some 50 years ago. When I found, embedded in her collection, a beautiful image of the very same door, I examined the photo and compared it to my own. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I considered how eerie it was that we chose to focus our cameras on the same subject, so many years apart…” (Kathleen Russ)

“…That day in July … it was so hard to hear the news that my mom’s cancer has come back for the second time…” (Bretney Endy)

That last quote comes from a particularly powerful series in this issue, submitted by a group of high school students who used photography and journaling to confront their own inner demons and fears. I have read every word in this magazine a dozen times, and some of the pieces in this group still make me cry, they’re that moving.

Here’s a little peek at some of what’s inside:

If you like what you see, I encourage you to visit your local Borders and/or Barnes & Noble to buy a copy. Help ensure I have a job this time next year! (We’re all friends and family here — I can say that sort of thing.)

My choice was made a lot easier by one thing. Well, two things, the second being that Chris was just plain ol’ wrong about That Guy being him. Chris is a much better looking guy. (I’d prove it with a photo, but I don’t seem to have any but this picture of a picture online anywhere.)

The first thing that made it easy for me was that Melissa and Gabrielle each created a very interesting character … but neither of them actually gave him a name! Since that was actually the point of the contest, I am forced to eliminate them from the competition. No hard feelings, I hope? Rules, after all, are rules.

So (by default, and I’m glad of that because it means I didn’t actually have to choose), Annie is the winner of the Name That Guy contest! Here is Annie’s entry:

This is Hoben and he’s one of the Creators in the land of Ephily. The Creators are a select few artists who sit in a room and sketch pictures of new creatures and when the sketches are finished off with a dusting of magic sand over the ink, the creature then comes to life somewhere in the land. What makes Hoben a good creator is that not only does he have a mind for subtle detail, but he also understands balance and incorporates that into what he creates.

Hoben is a good fit, I think, and I love the idea of people sketching their world into existence. I wonder if I could get a hold of some of that magic sand and sprinkle it over my picture of Ben Barnes … no, Stace, no. Don’t go there.

Annie, let me know if you want the bookwish or a picture. Actually, I owe you several pictures, since you suggested three of the subjects I took on in the past month. Let me know which (if any) you’d like to have.

Thanks, everyone, for playing along!

It must have been the word “free” — I seem psychologically unable to resist it, especially when it’s coupled with the work “books.” Say it with me, if you will:

Doesn’t it make you all tingly inside?

Still, I should have known better. Last spring, the buzz about a particular book by a particular author piqued my interest, and I paid out hard cash to try it out only to end up extremely disappointed. I really had no intention of seeking out the remaining volumes in the trilogy, right up until the publisher offered a set of all three to anyone willing to write a review of them (especially the last book, which was just released).

Something in my brain short-circuited at the thought of getting free books, especially a free ARC (advance review copy). So what if they were books I didn’t want to read? They were FREE! And I’d have the opportunity to read the last one before anyone else!

Of course, having the books in my possession meant that I was obligated to actually read them, and then write about them. And I did. Read them, that is. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds, because as disappointing as the first book in the trilogy was, the second and third books managed to magnify my opinion to one of true, teeth-gnashing disgust.

I don’t want to go into the many things wrong with these books. Well, I do want to (strictly for educational purposes, you understand) but I made a decision a while ago that I wasn’t going to trash anyone’s books here, because I know that what goes around comes around, and I haven’t written much myself (yet) that would stand up to heavy critical appraisal. In the back of my head, I have this idea that I could end up sitting next to one of these authors at a con someday, and I don’t want our conversation to start with something like, “Say, aren’t you the one who wrote that totally scathing review of my book on your blog…?” So that’s why I haven’t mentioned the book or author by name.

Also, it would be a very long post. Very.

Apparently, reading bad books gave have a long-term effect on your brain. I swear, I haven’t been able to pick up another novel for the better part of a month, now, ever since finishing the book in question. It’s like I sprained something in there, and I’m afraid if I stretch it too soon I’ll damage myself beyond all recovery. Not even the likes of Ursula LeGuin, John Crowley and China Mieville (all waiting in my to-be-read pile) can lure me into their pages. I’ve had to make do with nibbling at a few of short stories and non-fiction and episodes of Get Smart while my Narrative Appreciation lobe recuperates.

That I’m actually writing about the experience is a good sign. I must be in recovery, if I can talk about it.

Given that I had only 3 days to draw those 7 pictures (because my self-discipline is poor and I did not draw every single day, like I was supposed to)…

… and because I wanted to test my consistency by redrawing the same face multiple times…

…. and because I wanted to try out drawing a bigger variety of expressions…

… and because I still had it in mind that I wanted to bookend my project with self-portraits…

I decided that I would draw 7 pictures of myself as a sort of grand finale to this whole thing.

It started off well. I went home Friday night and took a bunch of cheesy snapshots of myself with cheesy expressions on my face: anger, surprise, etc. They weren’t great photos, but I got them printed at the drugstore, so you know my intention must have been sincere, if I was going to let some teen-aged photo clerk see photos of me making a fool of myself. But the photos were meant for a reference only, so I didn’t really care what they looked like.

So, come Sunday afternoon (yeah, yeah … I waited till Sunday afternoon; ref. above mention of self-discipline deficiency), I sat down and pulled out my sketch pad, pencil and photos. I told myself that I wasn’t going to spend too much time on any one picture — I had 7 to do, after all, and even if I only spent 30 minutes on each one (a reasonable estimate for the others I’ve done this month) that would mean 3 and half hours. These were going to be rough and dirty sketchwork, only.

I was on number 3 (surprised!) when I realized I wasn’t having fun. Remember way back at #9 I said I wasn’t enjoying trying to draw real people. So what made me think I’d want to do it 7 times in a row? And, compounding the issue, do it 7 times using less-than-flattering pictures of myself? Disregarding the quality of the pictures, which wasn’t encouraging, I couldn’t get past the boredom of what I was doing. Not even giving myself permission to be perfectly bad by saying I wouldn’t have to post them made me want to keep going.

Was it the repetition of doing the same face over and over (so much for my career as a graphic novelist!)? Or was it that my face is just so darn boring? I dunno. I just knew I didn’t want to draw that face anymore, no matter how many funny expressions it was twisted into. I even tried a few hours later, but couldn’t urge myself beyond a basic oval for the head and circles for eyeballs.

I told myself that enough was enough and there was no sense forcing myself to do something I wasn’t enjoying, and that I wasn’t going to be proud to show off in the end. So I stopped, and since I felt relief instead of guilt, I know it was the right choice.

The only thing left to decide was whether or not I was going to try and make up those seven faces once my 30 days was up. Which, ultimately, was more important? The time spent or the quantitative output. Truth is, the answer would have been a toss-up, except for one thing — there are all these words battering at my brain, trying to get out.

See, what with trying to produce a decent looking drawing a day, all my personal time has been pretty filled up, and my writing output in the last month has been practically nil. Now, it could be that I needed that verbal down time, but my writer-mind is starting to reassert itself. Drawing is fun, but those words are always going to demand more attention from me.

So, I am calling and end to my self-imposed 30 Days, 30 Faces challenge, with only 23 “finished” drawings. I have learned a lot — especially how much more there is to learn! Don’t think that this means you won’t see more drawings from me in the future; revisions of some I’ve done this past month, and new faces that suggest themselves to me. I also want to try and paint some of them — for some reason, I have a particular reason to paint Emryn. And sense I am a shameless exhibitionist, you are sure to see some of it pop up here.

I want to offer my sincere thanks to everyone who commented — your encouragement meant (and continues to mean) a lot. There’s just something about having an appreciative audience that compels me to keep going. It must be the latent actress in me, always seeking applause. Seriously, you’re the best.

Oh: today’s the last day to make an entry into the contest to Name This Guy. I’ll make a decision tomorrow and post the winner.

That is all! We now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Yes, that Inigo, but not based on Mandy Patinkin in the movie. Nin suggested him as a subject a few weeks back, but before I got to him I decided I wasn’t having much fun trying to draw actual likenesses of people and failing miserably.

But then I realized that I could just draw Inigo from the book, not the movie. Never liked his hair in the movie anyway …

– an then Piccoli was pieced by something so dazzling even he had to open his eyes –

– to see a young man approaching, tall, blade-thin, muscular, spring-legged, who was handsome enough but would have been more than that, save for two scars that paralleled his cheeks –

I think he may be a little too angular, and the scars make him look even more gaunt. I didn’t have too much time to spend on the hair, either — this was done on my lunch break while in the park. And his goatee needs serious attention.

Well, maybe revisit later, if Nin wants the picture!

I’m preloading this post to go up on Sunday afternoon. I’ve got 7 more pics to do this weekend — that’s a lot! I don’t know if I’ll get it done or not. Tune in Monday to find out!

Long hair still a problem with this size paper. His nose could maybe use a bit more definition.

But over all I’m pleased.

I like that character that comes through, but he looks a little too … Disney-ish. A bit like Gaston, non?

(I don’t know if the pic is showing up or not … link is here.

In the histories, she is known only as Dox Imbra, or Daughter of Imbra, who was the first of the Queens of Ular. No one is quite sure if she was really Imbra’s daughter, or if it was an honorific. Likewise, there is no record of her given name — she gave it up before her death, in shame and grief, and it was excised from history.

I know, though, that her name was Aven.

Not bad. I actually didn’t use a reference pic for this one. I’m having trouble with the longer hair on some of these pics, because I don’t have a lot of room to work with. My sketch pad is just 8 1/2 by 6 1/4, and I use most of that space for the head itself. It doesn’t leave much room for flowing locks.

I can’t help feeling that everyone looks a little bit generic. How does one make them look more like individuals? Color, of course, would help, but there must be more to it.

So, I’ve got 4 days left in the month … and 10 pics left to post. Only 2 of those are done already, leaving me to draw 8, or 2 a day, if I want to finish on the 30th. Not sure how that will work out just yet, even if some of those days are weekend days …

See ya tomorrow!

You get two for the price of one here, because I first decided to try doing a full profile of Jezira. When it started going badly, I realized it was hard to do a profile when I didn’t even know what I wanted her to look like from the front.

You can see how that turned out.

Bit of a problem with the foreshortening going on there — I was trying to give the effect of her holding her chin up sort of arrogantly. She just looks like she has a smooshed face. And the hair … I couldn’t think what her hair should look like (I’m trying to avoid long wavy locks on everyone, you know?) and ended up with this, which is really … not working for me.

Definitely one I’ll want to revisit some time in the future.

By the way, I’m still taking requests if you have someone you want me to draw (Holly … you need to send me Hannah’s desc) and also don’t forget the contest to name this guy. There’s been some interesting entries already! You have till the end of June to submit yours.

Thanks everyone!