I’m getting some drawings together for yet another misguided, unpublishable book. It’s called Angels, and what it amounts to is a collection of all the different kinds of angels there are.
I have about 50 so far, but I imagine I could go on for quite some time. And it’s okay that it’s not going to be a book. That’s just how I think of almost everything I do, including making breakfast and walking the dog: Can it be a book? I’m thinking. It usually can’t.