I’m still working on getting the feel of bony structures into my drawing hand. Progress is slow, but steady.
Also, I’m processing all manner of leftover emotional falderal, so drawing bones is highly soothing.
There is a tub of s’mores ice cream lurking around in my freezer. I’m pondering this fact.
You’re reading Victor Poole, and I’m torn between the desire to purchase takeout and vanity (because I’ve been working on my body composition). Also, in my current novel, the cyborg director is being a total ass (and is about to be metaphorically whupped by our handsome hero).