My printer is once again throwing hissy fits. It's cranky and old and wants to retire. Even between my soothing whispers of "soon, baby," it digs in its heels, flashes its orange light and tells me there's no paper in the tray when it darned well knows there is. I think it doesn't like change...as in when I put in new paper.
Which I did today. One sheet. I can't say one lousy sheet, since it wasn't lousy at all. One sheet of photographic paper, as Tim the artist sent me his first concept sketch for my heroine, Tabetha. Which printed fine, and then whammo, orange light, grinding of gears, and after much pushing of buttons, printer spat out half of the email text. ::shrug:: After this weekend, I'll take what I can get. Half an email is better than none, and I have the sketch printout. I still win. In the words of Nelson Muntz (from The Simpsons,) "Hah-hah."
It's a little trickier to make notes on this sketch, because MOH is written in first person, from Tabetha's point of view, so I was inside her head for the whole book, rather than looking at it. I may have to rely on critique partners more than my own recollections. Kind of odd, that, but I want other input. My initial reaction is to say yes, but I want to make the rounds anyway. Either way, it's a gorgeous portrait and I am more sure than ever that I made the right choice in illustrator.
Time to do the same as I did with the Dalby sketches; stick it on the office wall and live with her for a few days. Also her with Dalby.
Wrote on both TWR and OitS today, though the computer got the munchies and the printer is as obstinate as a three year old in the deli section of the A&P. The kind where kiddo flops down on the ground and Is Not Going Any Farther. Not that I ever did anything of the sort to my own sainted mother. ::looks away, whistles innocently::
Thankfully, I do still have stuff already printd to bring to nag group tonight, and I have art, which is always a plus. Though I think they would probably like it if I actually brushed my hair and did something with it rather than the stick-in-a-claw-in-random-glob-while-writing style.
Doing the happy artwork dance, in search of hairsticks.