#I write it in my sketchbook but I haven't been carrying it lately

[kagrenacs]

How do you remember appointments with ADHD? I am accepting advice on how to remember appointments.

[joandraws]

Connie Converse

Maybe you've heard of her, maybe you haven't. I'm writing this for those who haven't.

Connie may well be the first American singer-songwriter, though her name remains relatively obscure. I only stumbled upon her music recently and was instantly captivated by it. My fascination with her artistry drove me to delve deeper into her life and the mystery surrounding her disappearance. This exploration took an emotional toll, as I found myself relating to her on a profound level. Her lyrics already resonated with me, but as I delved into her story and read parts of her final letter titled "To Anyone Who Ever Asks," the line, "Let me go, let me be if I can, let me not be if I can't," moved me to tears. I suddenly felt like her disappearance was such a significant loss to the world.

Then a strange thing happened as I was painting this portrait of her. I glanced at my worn-out, old Intuos4 graphic tablet (yes, it still works), its stickers peeling off, and I couldn't help but cry. In a hypothetical scenario (if I also disappeared) where someone as sensitive as me discovered my possessions, viewed my art, and learned about my life, they might feel the same way about me. In that moment, I gained a newfound appreciation for my art, for what I do, and for who I am.

Being proud of my art has always been a challenge for me. Typically, I create and release my work into the world, allowing it to find its own audience. And I have to admit that a lot of the time I even dislike my art. But lately, I've been working on having the same level of appreciation for my own work as I do for others. I'm sharing this because I know there are many artists, like me, who are excessively self-critical. Yes, I struggle with perfectionism, but even more than that, I used to be so self-critical to the extent that I would stop myself from creating at all.

This year, however, through my personal sketchbook project, I've made a conscious effort to change that. I've been focusing more on savoring the process of simply putting pen to paper.

But enough about me for now; let's shift our attention back to Connie Converse, and I'll just leave this sentence that her brother Philip Converse wrote about her:

"Sis was a genius and a polymath. I do not use the terms lightly. Connie was a poet, a writer of scholarly articles, a cartoonist, a painter, a would-be novelist by her own description, an activist, sculptor, and among other things a songwriter."

She wrote most of her songs between 1950 and 1955 when she was in her late 20s, living in New York City. While they do evoke that period, they are also timeless.

There's another intriguing aspect about her, at least from my perspective. Based on my reading and the accounts of those who knew her, it's my personal belief that she may have been on the asexual spectrum. I don't mean to speculate or offend her family, but this is just my personal opinion. Her music often delved into themes of loneliness and isolation, but it also celebrated her independence and contentment with being on her own. It's evident that she grappled with depression and often felt unheard. If she indeed fell within the asexual spectrum, it's highly plausible that she also carried feelings of being different or "broken," a common experience for asexual individuals, including myself.

There has also been speculation that she might have been a lesbian, though it remains just speculation. Ultimately, we'll never truly know, and her personal life remains her own business. I believe there might be a connection between these aspects. She was undeniably brilliant, and while it might be wishful thinking on my part, the fact that she was never found and her family respected her wishes allows me to imagine that she might still be out there somewhere. I hope she senses how much people cherish her music now and realizes how deeply appreciated she is.

Thank you for reading if you did! If you want to know more about Connie Converse you can listen to Spinning On Air's beautiful podcast episodes about her here, here and here.

[marvellousstawler]

Monday 23rd on Tuesday 24th (Oct '23)

Apparently my blog is a year old (a week ago). Look at all this nothing! And yeah this entry is late because I got home and had to do hot girl shit.

Art *moth flies out of sketchbook*

Writing Okay maybe the (literally seven days after) anniversary post is a good place for this! It's actually taken me about 10 years, but I finally have a magic system for TDD that I'm almost fully satisfied with! And I'm over the MOONS! I actually can't believe I've managed to make some kind of breakthrough during such a work-heavy period. I also made a decent attempt today (yesterday) to carry on writing the actual drafts instead of giant swathes of ideas. My work contract ends 2 weeks into Nano, so at the rate I'm going, I might actually be able to pull it off...? Don't worry Future Marv, you don't have to make any promises to Present Marv to win Nano.

Reading Okay to be candid I added the next section today because I've literally done no reading in the seven preceding days. And I have no excuse this time. I don't know why it's so hard for me. I noticed a store in town was selling a weirdly large number of volumes for Donuts Under A Crescent Moon, the first issue of which I read several years ago, and never expected to see another volume for because lesbians literally need a whole day of visibility (and it doesn't do much to get us noticed in media markets...). Why am I reading romance at all when it so often upsets me for personal reasons I haven't fully been able to unpack? Well, maybe I have things *other* than piles of yet-to-be-resold books, that I need to let go of.

[andie-cake]

For in between the lines, maybe a 'musical paul moment' being caught by emma?

Tonight seemed like it would be another sleepless night for Emma, and she wasn't totally sure why. She'd tried everything that usually gets her to sleep, and yet, she was still wide awake. She'd adjusted her pillows, she'd doodled in her sketchbook a bit, she'd even put on some easy-listening music! And yet, nothing. Maybe she just wasn't used to the bed in Paul's guest room yet, that had to be it. She was so accustomed to the creaky bedframe and shitty mattress of her own bed back in Clivesdale, that to sleep in an actually comfortable bed felt foreign to her.

Maybe some chamomile tea would help.

Though Paul was very much a coffee person, he had a ton of tea in his pantry. He claimed it was because he was prone to sore throats, which was a little odd considering how quiet he was. Still, if it meant that Emma could make herself a nice hot cup of chamomile for her near-midnight insomnia, then who was she to question it?

Allowing the gentle music to continue on her phone, Emma slipped on a robe Paul had lent her and quietly made her way down the hall and to the staircase. Though Paul was a heavy sleeper- hence why she left her tunes on, she still didn't wanna risk walking too loudly and waking him up.

Though maybe that wouldn't be much of a concern, considering what she saw when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Or rather, who she saw. Paul, in the living room, in his pajamas, swaying and moving his feet to the rhythm of the music Emma had been playing in her room. She stared on in disbelief.

"Paul?" she piped up.

"Emma!" he exclaimed, startled as he whirled around to face her. Though he had stopped dancing, he was still tapping his foot to the beat. "Wh-what are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" Emma retorted playfully, her eyebrows raised. Paul raised his hand to cover his cheeks, a sure sign he was blushing, and Emma bit back a giggle. "I didn't know you could dance."

"I dabble in it sometimes," he explained sheepishly. "I couldn't sleep, so I got up to get some late-night writing in, and I heard you playing music from your room. Dancing helps me clear my head, but I guess I got a bit... carried away..."

Emma nodded, unable to fight her urge to smile. This man was just full of surprises, wasn't he? "Well, I also couldn't sleep, so I got up to make some tea," she said. "But this looks more fun."

Paul's eyes widened. "Huh?"

Deciding what the hell, might as well tucker herself out, Emma held out her hand. "Care for a dance, Matthews?" she proposed.

Paul sputtered for a moment, like his brain was having trouble processing the question. A snort escaped Emma. What a goddamn geek this man was... But after a solid minute of brain rebooting, Paul smiled at her and nervously took her hand in his own, his cold touch sending a chill through Emma's body.

"O-okay...!"

Delighted, Emma stepped closer so that she and Paul were mere inches apart. Still holding his hand, she placed her other on his shoulder. Paul hesitated.

"I'll be honest, I, um..." Paul said. "I haven't actually danced with another person since high school. I don't really remember how to dance with a partner..."

"That's fine!" Emma assured him. "Just put your other hand on my waist."

"Your waist?"

"Yes, my waist."

Again, Paul hesitated, as though placing his hand that low on her body was some greatly intimate thing. Still, he managed, resting his free hand on her lower torso. Emma felt herself flush at the sensation. Paul's touch was incredibly chilly, she already knew this. He claimed it was a rare condition of his, something he's been dealing with for as long as he could remember. Although it could give her a bit of a jolt, especially when she was tired like this, there was something oddly pleasant about the feeling.

Once Paul had gotten himself situated, he began to gently sway her in time with the song that had just switched over upstairs. A slow, sorta jazzy tune with a mellow saxophone that you'd hear playing in the waiting room of a therapist's office or something. Emma allowed Paul to lead her through a gentle waltz, careful to avoid trodding on each other's toes as they stepped in rhythm.

"H-how's this?" Paul asked after a little while.

"You're doing great," Emma reassured him. "I think this song picks up a bit after a minute, so just keep an ear out."

The waltz proceeded, with Paul leading her around the living room, carefully avoiding the furniture. Emma was proud to admit she only tripped over her own feet once in this time. Still, the entire time, she was in awe of Paul's elegance. Normally, he was such a nervous man, stammering and stumbling over his words. But now, as he swayed in perfect time with the song, easily working with Emma's own out-of-practice fumbling? It was mesmerizing.

"Damn, you're really good at this," Emma observed, voicing her thoughts. She felt her heart flutter a bit at the bashful smile that crossed her dancing partner's face. "You ever consider dancing professionally?"

Paul snorted. "Not a chance in hell," he replied. "I only dance for myself."

Emma quirked up an eyebrow. "And for me?" she asked playfully. "Or is this just a demonstration?"

A full-on chuckle left Paul's lips. "Okay, I dance for myself, and for you," he corrected himself, a jovial spark in his tone. "Happy?"

Smiling up at him, Emma nodded. "Very," she answered. As they continued to make their way around the room, she heard the key of the song change. She shot Paul a teasingly challenging look. "Alright Astaire, sounds like the song's about to pick up the pace. Show me what you got."

Indeed, the pace began to grow faster, the saxophone picking up in speed and volume. Paul's movements adjusted to match the rhythm, and miraculously Emma didn't fall over trying to follow him. They continued like that for another minute, with the song thankfully not speeding up anymore than it already had. Though Emma could tell they had reached the bridge. Paul looked down at her with a look of playful mischief in his bright blue eyes.

"Wanna try a lift?" he asked.

Emma smiled, surprised. "Oh, would you?" she pressed.

"Only if the partner consents."

"Oh, I consent."

Paul broke out into the biggest smile Emma had seen on him yet. "Alright..." he said, clearly listening for the right moment. Emma felt herself go giddy with anticipation. "And... here we go!"

The song hit it's peak, with the sax soaring. Paul quickly adjusted the placement of his hands, lifting her up mid-spin. A fit of giggles escaped Emma as she wrapped her arms around his neck, persisting even as he set her back down. God, what was it about this man that got her fucking giggling like this? She wouldn't've been caught dead doing that before, especially not as a high schooler. She had a bad bitch reputation to uphold, and yet here she was, giggling like a sappy-happy dope. Maybe it was just her being tired? Yeah, that had to be it...

Damn, she was tired, wasn't she? Once Paul had set her down and her ridiculous laughing had ceased, she found herself yawning and leaning her head against Paul's chest. Paul chuckled softly, rubbing a hand up and down her back and swaying her as the song slowed back down. And fuck, his touch felt good...

"Tired out?" he asked gently.

"Mhm..." she hummed in reply. "Not so sure I need the tea now..."

A beat, then Paul spoke up, his nerves seeing to return to him now that the song was over. "You, uh..." he said. "You want me to carry you back to the guest room?"

Even in her half-asleep state, Emma still felt her cheeks grow hot. "You don't have to do that..."

"You sure?" he pressed. "You seem pretty wiped out."

Emma considered it for a moment. On one hand, this was his house and she didn't wanna seem like a bother. On the other hand, she was very tired and walking up the stairs sounded like a nightmare right now.

"Alright," she conceded, wrapping her arms around Paul's neck once more. "Take me away, man."

With another soft chuckle, Paul gathered Emma up into a bridal carry and began to make his way towards the stairs. Emma shut her eyes, leaning her head on his shoulder as he hummed along to the song they'd just danced to. Before Emma knew it, she was back in her room, being set down on the bed.

"Thanks, Paul." she huffed, burrowing back under the comforter.

"No problem," Paul responded. "It was a lot of fun, dancing with you I mean."

Emma nodded against the pillow. "Yeah, it was fun..." she agreed. She looked up at him with a sleepy smile. "G'night, Paul."

"Goodnight, Emma," he said, turning to leave the room. "Sleep well."

Paul shut the door, and Emma was once again alone. She curled up under the blanket, trying to ignore the lingering chill of his hands on her skin. He'd been so gentle as he led her around the room, swayed her, held her in his arms. Now Emma almost felt... lonely, without his touch.

...

Oh.

Oh shit.

[krisrix]

Here's a flip-through of my Inktober sketchbook 🖤 Thank you all so much for your enthusiasm throughout this month! I'm blown away!

Massive thank you to my husband, Simon, who supported me doing this every night (and who filmed this over my shoulder). And to @vkelleyart @carryonsimoncarryonbaz and @penpanoply for the encouragement—your support means the world to me. And to all of the amazing friends I have here on Tumblr and Discord, who absolutely spoil me with their outpouring of love. There's too many of you to name, which is absolutely mindboggling, but if you're thinking "I wonder if he means me, too?", the answer is YES. 👏

And, of course, the deepest of thank yous to @rainbowrowell for writing these incredible books and being so involved with the fandom, 🖤

I've been struggling a lot lately with my depression—the past few months have been a very difficult time for me. I haven't been capable of handling much at all, but I poured all of my energy and positive feelings into this Inktober journey, and I'm so happy I was able to see it through. And to such a warm reception! 🖤 Truly, thank you.

Congratulations to all my fellow Carry On family members who made it through! @vkelleyart @penpanoply @mara-miranda @pitchpatronus @bazzledazzlepitches You're all so inspiring.