A Farewell To November And More Artistry Prattle

I love to awake in the wee morning hours when the world is calm and sleeping. I spent the peaceful and quiet morning sketching illustrations for The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies. I painted the first two, and I consigned them to the tip. These are my first paintings in months, and it will take me a moment to get back into the saddle. I write 3-4000 words a day with pure ease and have always painted less. I know with more painting (because I always feel so happy when I paint), just like my writing, I get better with practise. It's taken me years to create my unique style, which happens with every artist.

I am breaking in my brush simultaneously with myself, such as a fresh pair of clogs. I know a few things about my art and what I appreciate most; I am not a complicated artist. I understand a simple painting with few details and backgrounds.

I'm not too fond of an image overly detailed with writings or scenery. I feel overwhelmed. That's the beauty of personal appreciation; we all have a unique style that resonates.

I'm attempting to get my brush to cooperate with me. At the start, I thought it was the paper, but now I believe it was the paint with a bit of trial and error. Believe it or not, I am genuinely finding that the cheapest watercolour paints I own I fancy the most. Isn't that something? You know the kind you can pick up nearly at any box chain store? Yes, those in the pallet with many colours; see the picture below. My paints remind me of women that use eyeshadows, and they love specific colours and will use them up to no end, and then need to keep buying more to get those favourite colours they use all of the time. It's the same for my paintbrushes too. I've finally established the tools (brushes) that I swear by, and it's the brand named Masters Touch. I fancy the generic Great Value pack of brushes from Walmart but collect fistfuls of the Master's Touch from Hobby Lobby. I've tried dozens; the very expensive and the total cheap. The paper I use is the cold-pressed block 300£ Arches. It's my absolute favourite of all watercolour paper. I enjoy a toothy texture to my paper; the scant of roughness seems to grip the watercolour, and for me, that's a lovely measure of how the painting comes alive.

Yesterday I finalised staining Henny Penny's chicken coop. My beloved gardener and I have now been dwelling at my folks for just two years. At the same time, I had no true vision of desiring to live forever at my folks for the most part. I have a picture of sheep in the pastures behind the cottage, little music shacks, stables, carriage houses, tea shoppes, general stores, a small Little House on the Praire church all encompassed behind a stone wall with iron gates. Well, anyhow, I had this vision for some time now, and until just recently, I realised to put my dream into action, one must become very specific in one desire. I wasn't dreaming of a particular place; to be quite honest, my forever home was all over tarnation. A dream must be imagined precisely (you must know what you want with stability) and shant waiver in the vision. This practice is the true nature of demonstrating the desired want to manifest. I have now decided that Jeffrey and I will continue saving our money and buy my folks home with all cash. Then, I will purchase up the surrounding land. This picturesque ideal is our objective, and I've left the rest of the details to the spirited gods. I appreciate that this little cottage was named by my grand mummy Carter's Cottage, and Carter Village was all of her land combined. She had all the things here once upon a time, and I want to resurrect that dream she had when she was alive and place many more aspects to become the magical place of dreams made. If you think of any person that was an Imagineer, they kept dreaming and imagining soothing over and over until it became a reality, and that's what I've always done and will do with this vision.

Thank you for visiting. Do you have any questions for me?

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx

A Pleasant Surprise - My New Book and Cover Reveal (Just In Time For Christmas)

As many of you that read this here olde blog know, I've been prattling on about listening to new affirmations while I sleep at night. These beliefs shifted my foundational core prolifically and joyously (more on that in detail when another of my books (nonfiction) comes out in a few months.)

Where was I?

Oh yes.

A few months ago, I was sipping tea in the cottage, and the thought wisped over my mind. I think Sir Oliver Twisty Topsy needs some new friends; he seemed awfully sad staying sat in one spot all day; he looked dreadfully lonely. However, I placed the thought on the back burner (because Jeffrey Shawn and I) are still living with my folks. (My mum isn't too keen on inside animals. However, we moved in shortly after Sawyers murder, and my folk's sentiments waned. In other words, they felt horrible at what had transpired; they happily took in me, my hubby, chickens and house rabbit.)

Although I had sent the intention out into our forest of fools (the world) that I wanted: two more bunnies, must be boys, a similar docile breed as Oliver, had to be babies, so that they came with no previous issues and I wanted a black, and a mixed colour different in appearance to Oliver's colouring, I thought no more about it. I had felt it and let it go because of my circumstances. Then, a fortnight later, I was picking up rabbit's Buckaroo and Chappie. So one day, in a tea fuelled frenzy, my way of expressing the elated joy I felt was to sit and write a darling little story. I manifested my dream regardless of circumstances. Tasha Tudor always had the motto "Take Joy", so I also adapted the phrase to emulate her when Sawyer passed. I had managed to manifest my dream of having three cottage bunnies, and it made me feel as if I was in the likeness of my other favourite hero, Beatrix Potter.

For reasoning, only the spirit gods know I simply followed my inspired heart. I'm halfway through the illustrations now, and the book's release date is December 15th, 2021. I am delighted about this charming little Christmas bunny book.

My inspiration for the cover art of my book is an ode to Charles Dickens. Have you ever researched his backstory of how and why he wrote A Christmas Carol? It is rather quite an inspiration for authors.

Do you like the cover? 

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx

The Currents Are Changing {A Change To My Blog Is Coming}

Last week I had a meltdown, not in the way you'd think, and not for the reason you would think, either. 

This post will be a bit of a prattling session that my dear olde American borne British speaking heart has needed to share for some time coming, and I fear I won't stop chatting from now on out. 

Have you ever had those moments in your life when someone you love (tells you the complete truth) and your spirit is ready to receive it? That happened to me, and it has caused a significant shift within. My life, career, and as we (together) advance, I will embrace my stories and what I share on this here ol' blog (which will be nearly everything.) 

I have so many stories built up inside of me, and I've always held back, and some things I've wanted to say, but the time didn't seem to be right or, to be quite honest, I was afraid of what it would cause to others. I am now ready to share what has been welling up within me for years. The truth is (when my dearest friend said the most heartfelt things to me) I cried with such a gutted force, and for the first time in my life, I didn't try to fix it, make a silly joke to counteract the pain, I remained in the feeling. She (my friend) doesn't know her impact on me. Thank you, Tracey; I love you, dear heart. 

This post is letting you, my dear friends and readers, know how much I love you and that you can expect this blog to be changing extraordinarily, and I couldn't be more jolly about it. 

I've always told you, of all the media outlets, such as social media, my blog remains my little world of happiness, and for me to remain true to myself, I must spread my wings and allow my soul to spill out, to write as if I'm dying. I will be sharing more of my beloved gardener, my children, family, love stories, experiences, home decor, spirituality, what's happening on the farm, my books getting published, etc., more of everything. I now have archived my YouTube channel, podcast, Pinterest and closed out Twitter and Facebook. The only place to follow me is on Instagram, this ole blog, and of course purchasing my books. It's the most exciting time of my life, and I could not be 'Taking Joy' more if I tried. I have so many books within me, and I've been feverishly writing, and I am so excited to share them with you. 

Have any of you ever had that happen? It's a random breakdown from somewhere you'd never have thought, but it's just the tonic your heart needed to create a change within you. Please say yes. 

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx

The Art of Appreciating Pain

"Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault." ~Louisa May Alcott 

The clothesline was a gift from my littlest brother. No longer did my heart desire things that weren't important. Instead, I desired something to hold to, which denoted something. The small endeavour of a clothesline meant I was creating my dream, even if it was as tiny and seemingly insignificant as a silly ole place to dry clothes. When Sawyer passed and Jeffrey Shawn and I had to sell our little 1970's cottage in Tampa, Florida, everything was falling apart right before my very eyes. Honestly, I wept on the kitchen tile floor, pleading for the pain to release itself. I felt the weight of the world upon my shoulders. My son was brutally murdered, Jeffrey was fired from his job of 32 years, our only little chariot (vehicle) ceased to function, and then Jeffrey was hospitalised, nearly dying from heart failure.

Isn't that what has to happen, though? Everything has to fall apart to be made new again. So often, we spend our lives ignoring signs, pretending life is jolly when it's not. Why do we do that? It was a belief I created when I was a little girl; it was a trait I allowed to grow into an entirely made-up version of small insecurities along the way. I always felt less than, but if I could paint a perfect picture for others, it staved off the pain of rejection. If only they knew the real me, I would think to myself.

As difficult as things were then, I was handed a beautiful gift. If I had never known such pain and adversity, I could never have learned how to find my joy. I would have forgone what joy fills my soul up every day now. I would have lost out on the wonder and beauty of knowing deeply I am a wonderfully courageous person.

This Thursday, as you gather your wee little cherubs; and they tug on your apron strings while you cook yummy turkey and bake pies; remember how beautiful life is, cherish those moments and cling to them, for there will come a day you hold to those memories, for they are the only thing we have when the close of our days of life end.

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx

A Penny For My Thoughts (How The Instagram Hashtag Slow Living Has Made Me Want To Write About Religious Women And Their Duplicity)

How The Instagram Hashtag Slow Living Has Made Me Want To Write About Religious Women And Their Duplicity

Steady on. 

In writing this entry, I may seem as touchy as a schoolgirl losing her looks; however, the truth is, I feel this blog post theme is compellingly beneficial. Because of my past experiences, I think there's an ever-increasing necessity to shed light on the invariable consequences of women leading the charge in this narrative. I've matured in ways this subject no longer strikes a disadvantageous chord, and I am also brilliant enough to know teaching from my scars and not my wounds will be most beneficial. This precise reason is why often, I will wait on writing about particular topics. There's nothing more Ill~bred than to write about a topic that's apparent one hasn't stitched their heart but bangs on about the subject in the throws of subjective distress. I am also self-aware to be transparent that I once did this often; however, I retain now an accumulated understanding of this notion that to better advance change, I must first be healed myself and then write.