S’what happens when you don’t stay up on shit– it goes away. Starts small. I’ll just skip today, back on it tomorrow. Or maybe the weekend. The resistance builds quickly, even around something you enjoy doing.

Now it’s eight weeks later.

Skills, chops, and drive – all diminished. Now what? If you can manage to push past the resistance and make it to the blank page, things are different. There’s an awkward hesitation; you’re tentative. Where do I start and which mark should I make first?

You’ve done this a million times, but the uncertainty and second thoughts are there waiting. My ability is soft, atrophied and has a beer belly, but even here? That feeling of weirdness? C’mon, this is my sketchbook journal– The Blackbook– my long time friend.

‘Guess you’re kinda pissed, huh?

Last year was the first in twenty that I didn’t keep you around. I was working full-time and drawing comic pages nights and weekends– something had to go. I chose unwisely. Lost a lot of stories, ideas and memories along with the confidence.

I know it’s already March, but I promise I’m gonna make it up to you this year.

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