Recently I emerged from what biologists might deem a torpor or hibernation period, not unlike the kind experienced by the stately moose. My muscles slackened as I locked my legs into a comfortable position; my blood pressure dropped and my pulse slowed to a crawl; my pupils dilated, and the luscious suede of my antlers deteriorated into a dry velvety foam.
Oh. Forget that part about the antlers. Well—not that part that moose antlers lose all their fuzz, I mean about me having antlers. I don’t have antlers.
You know, just to be safe, I’m going to look up that thing about the fuzz because—oh, dammit. Moose don’t hibernate.
Sigh.
I emerged from a state I call “Final Art”. It’s when you’ve gotten the go ahead to do all the final art for a book, and the world clickity-shifts around you as one by one every priority in your life drops down a tick, and finally you have ONE CLEAR PURPOSE in life: Finish on time. All other duties fall to the wayside. Holiday plans? Cancelled. Replace the towel rack you broke months ago? No! I need my hands for drawing! “Pardon me for a second, sir— can I cough into your mouth?” NO! MUST STAY ALIVE! FINAL ART!
Then I deliver final art, and there’s a hole missing inside me.
So I’ve been filling it with this moose.
I made him during Final Art. He’s one of the many Arts that I made Final. I can’t say much about him, other that he’s for a picture book. One beautiful day sometime in 2025 he will return, in all his glory, and I’ll announce right here that he is finally available for purchase at your local bookseller, assuming they haven’t gone out of business because you started buying your books from Amazon instead of that big brick and mortar Barnes & Noble where you used to get your books, which still put a lot of pressure on local booksellers, but it was a much more level playing field than today, thank you very much, TECHNOPHILES.
Here he is checking item 32b on his Schedule C without filing Form 6198!!! Incorrigible!
Whats that fuzz all about?
ba dum ts