Monday, March 7, 2011

Headstrong Chicken

 I wanted to upload this whole book that I painted a couple years ago. I spent an hour (at least) uploading the photos, and then it went away. It wants me to upload one at a time? That can't be right. But I'm tired of it, so for now in My YearOfTechnology, this is what I'm sending out into the world. I'm Naieva and nothing comes easy. All this clicking around on this enfurnal thing has made me realize I need to clip my fingernails. I absolutely hate long fingernails. When Taylor was 3 pounds and in the incubator, some nurse had these claws and she was going to change my perfect baby! If I hadn't been so ill, I think I'd a blown up. You can bet, I examined him for scratches. He was living sunshine to me and that is not something you claw. But, funny you should mention fingernails. My Headstrong Chicken has fingernail claws. She's a cross between a heidous bird-of-prey vulture, turkey, and a hint of chicken with a serious sinus condition. She is a girl with a roster head-thingy.
I began making these little JunkArt kids books because it was taking too long to describe the look I was going for to my future-to-be fabulous famous illustrator that was going to make me famous when he drew her (or if it was Janell Cannon, a she).
 The Headstrong Chicken eats people food, especially corn.
Okay, I'm just getting annoyed. I uploaded that third picture and it went into the second spot. I don't want all that whitespace in the wrong spots either. I used to design ads for the Yellow Pages and I want it to look right, in a Z or L-formation or something. Huuuuu. My YoT is so dern frustrating. Okay, I have to go because I'm getting an AGITATION!

Not giving up though. Right now, I'm leaving the house to buy one of those film-turn-into-disc machines, and learn that. The Petersen Publishing Reunion page is wanting more old photos of the 80s, and I found some cool ones, but they are negatives and slides that need to be converted.

This Headstrong Chicken book is for all the mothers out there who endure (EVERY mother) that incessant whining from their children; they should not give in. Plus, when Taylor was five he liked all things chicken. And the look on his face when I told him where our dinner actually came from was quite disturbing. Hey, I didn't event food, sorry. I'm all for becoming a vegetarian, but the trouble is we've already tasted ribs and the BBQ in Tennessee is the best.
The chicken has a great life in this book even though the father ties him in a bag and carts him off.

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