The time I drew a dragon.

Once, I drew a dragon.

He was immense, seven foot tall, with glittering scales and sinuous tail. His claws were three inches long and razor sharp. His angular snout hissed vapour, and the muscles in his hind quarters were bunched and powerful.

I drew him in pencil, on the back of a door, and one wing and his tail spread out onto the wall beside.

He was beautiful.

Right now, you're probably smiling, but also thinking, "uh, where's she going with this one?"

Here's where I'm going: I can't draw.

I can't paint. I can't sketch. I have no artistic ability unless it be in words. And I'm serious, here - I'm not one of those people who creates lovely watercolours and goes, "oh, I have no talent really... but I'm rather proud of the dappled light under the beeches."

I really can't draw.

So how come I could create my wonderful, glorious, mythical beast?

For two reasons:- I was running a very high temperature, and I was Thinking Big.

That fever made me believe I could do it. And somehow, somehow, Thinking Big -
physically working to large scale - made that seven-foot-beast come to life on that door, and that wall.

So when I plot, notebooks ain't gonna cut the mustard. I have to go to the wall.

A nice dose of flu would help, too. But one can't have everything...

;-)

(I was musing on why I plot on walls, instead of on the Post Its Beth mentioned - this is the result!)