While prepping for AnaCon 2026, a comics and sci-fi event hosted by the Anaheim Central Library, my feet dragged. I set up my table in the study the day before, wondering why everything in me said “nope, you can’t do this. You’re too tired.” Each simple task took forever. Get out cards. Sit. Drink coffee. Get out coloring books. Sit. Watch youtube. And so on. Eventually I realized that a large part of the fatigue was the feeling of discouragement…

I stood under a golf umbrella and watched a gaggle of elementary school kids play street hockey. They wore team jerseys and a PE coach called out directions from the sidelines. These pre-tournament matches are as low stakes as it gets but to the kids running in the heat, sweat dripping down their faces, this was important. Not because there was a prize awaiting them, but because they were a team…

My church does a Stations of the Cross art project for the season of Lent, and each year it reminds me how incredibly nice it is to be in a community that values creativity, imagination, and artistry. This year, the project involved pairing poets with artists, so I said yes to illuminating a poem written by Nick Bash. The arts council handed me a cardstock printout which I left on my desk, unsure what I wanted to do.

Nick’s poem is emotive and dramatic, leaning into the intensity of Mary’s pain while contrasting her experience of meeting Jesus vs saying goodbye. I knew I couldn’t match Nick’s intensity without making it seem garish, so I decided to lean the visuals in the opposite direction…

For my first therapeutic art session of 2026, I set up a time for us to refresh our ability to see goodness in others. I created the concept for this session a year or two ago, and finally—after witnessing all the horrors of each news cycle rolling through and sifting through all the anger on social media—I decided it was time. We need to relearn how to see the humanity in others. I covered the table with references: magazine clippings, a few drawings of my own, and Lego figures that my son helped pick out, anything that reinforced the theme while gently removing any potential stress that figure drawing might induce.

If you’d like to try this type of session yourself, here’s the gist:

I assumed that launching my next coloring book would be simple. I’ve done it before, I know the steps, I have the experience, so surely I can build on that knowledge, right?

I didn’t factor in one major change. I have started to unmask my neurodivergence. I welcome accommodation, and—frustrating but essential—accept limitations. So when I faced the jumble of tasks that needed to be squished into a marketing campaign, I let them stay in a pile. I stared at them and thought—maybe I don’t need to be great at this. My executive functioning and task sequencing and overwhelm threshold all say “please don’t pretend anymore.” Maybe I don’t have to force myself to have it all together. Or at least PRETEND to myself that I can have it all together if I only try hard enough.

I would far rather have a beautiful book that I am proud of…

herapeutic art is designed to be accessible. Because who on earth wants barrier to entry, things like expensive supplies or tricky techniques, between them and creativity? Self-expression? Exploration? Healing? In the videos below, I use watercolor, inexpensive watercolor paper, ballpoint pens, and colored pencils. The watercolor is not essential for the process. As long as you have paper and a few colors to play with, you’re all set.

This month’s videos include help with processing discouragement and a grounding practice that helps reduce the power of triggers.

Art makes my life better. It helps me metabolize big feelings that threaten to destabilize me. And if you’ve been reading national news, there is a lot. A. Lot. to destabilize us. These videos don’t fix the big problems, but they help us cope, calm, and carry on with the essential tasks of self care, home care, neighbor care, community care, and family care. These seemingly small tasks are what keep us grounded. They keep us fed. They keep us strong. So watch a video, draw alongside me, and have a good week.

Meditative art is not about hype and I am terrible at hyping up my work in general, so I am incredibly thankful when people choose to hype it up anyway. Last week my youtube channel got a lovely boost that has gained me over 20 subscribers (now 80+ subscribers! Big numbers for a little channel like mine) and showed me that little videos can do well…

It has been a while since I’ve shared an overview of what I do. The only time I feel comfortable talking about myself like this is in one-on-one conversations, so I’ll play pretend for a moment. Hi. Thanks for grabbing a coffee with me in this nice, quiet cafe. Emphasis on quiet. If it’s loud, I will have to spend a few hours recovering later this afternoon, and prefer to not do that. So yes. Thank you. I love that you picked a sensory-safe place.

I am a writer and an artist. I wrote for interior design magazines for nine years, and…

Every year artists, writers, and makers make the same plea. They call out in chorus: Shop small! Shop local! Shop indie! Every year I feel the pull toward small business. I want my money to go toward creative, entrepreneurial people instead of massive, unethical corporations. As I daydream about handmade ceramics, I also feel the barriers that block me. How do I sift through the internet to:

1. find items that I appreciate

2. from makers I trust

3. at prices I can afford?

Shopping local can feel challenging. However much I want to demand that you shop small, I have to ask the question of myself first. How can I remove the barriers? How do I make this process easier so even people like me—distractible, penny pinching, easily overwhelmed, picky—can support small businesses. Two answers come to mind.

I wrote a book. It’s known to happen in my house, but I don’t talk about it much online. Why? It’s uncomfortable to share about a manuscript that hasn’t left the nest. The book is still in need of an advocate who sees its value, understands how it will help readers like you, and shares my vision for its future. My writer friends out there know what work I need to do next—I can see your Hunger Games’ three finger salute from here. Thank you. May the odds be ever in our favor—but for the rest of you, let me start by telling you why this book needs to exist:

I didn’t feel ready to lead a therapeutic art session. My anger and helplessness all jumbled inside me. Each small task felt far more difficult than it should’ve. But I needed to tidy my house and my heart enough to welcome people into my home.

The news last week brought back a lot of memories. Old feelings I’d forgotten still live inside me. When I was 10 or 11, my older brother stood on the patio with his bb gun. The afternoon was quiet. No adults around. I stood nearby to watch him aim. He squeezed the trigger—and the bb ricochetted off a block wall. It hit me in the chest…

How does one sum up a good summer? My instincts say I must type out a long list of all the things I did. But listing it all—camping, Grand Canyon, painting a room, swimming, rearranging this, building that—doesn’t quite do it.

So let me start with a question: Have you ever made kimchi?

It’s been a while, friends! I am the throes of everything and nothing. It’s that liminal phase where I’m working with my eyes on an eventual deadline that seems like it will never come yet is also coming far too quickly.

Time is weird, isn’t it? Wibbly wobbly.

It feels strange to show you the in between. I don’t have a new event or a new product. No final anything to share. In lieu, I’ll tell you about the projects that I’m working on:

My first event of 2025 is coming up, guys. I’ll run a table at ANACON 2025: Anaheim Central Library, from 10am-4pm on Saturday, April 12th. I have been slow about sharing, because—well—I’m a tiny bit nervous. And excited. And nervous. Why is that?

When I color, I remember laying on the floor with my sisters. Carpet pile made marks on my elbows as I scribbled in a coloring book, my feet kicking behind me, the room growing dim as the sun set. We focused so much on the colors that we sometimes forgot to listen to my dad as he read out loud to us. Honestly, what good is Swiss Family Robinson when you’ve got Victorian dresses to make into rainbows?

Want to know something exciting? Since I started making videos again, my subscribers went from 74 to 101 in one month. I know those are small fry numbers, but that sudden hop means I’m doing something right! I like it when I get things right. A rare and fleeting feeling.

If you haven’t checked out my youtube yet, now’s a great time. I haven’t written website updates for each individual video, so I’m dumping the latest 6 for your perusal. Enjoy <3

Each event I do is not just a sales-hunting, skill-building experience. It’s a heart-healing experience. Let me give you a little context:

A relative once asked me about an upcoming craft fair. I could share very little before they interrupted, “maybe I’ll be able to drop by,” and then paused. The air between us felt thick…

One summer afternoon, my entire craft fair melted in a heat wave. Vendors hid in the shade behind their tables and potential customers wandered past. It was my first craft fair, too. And being new meant I was unsure of everything. Would my preparations work out? Were my displays enticing enough? An even scarier question: was my art good enough?

I started a monthly therapeutic art group last year. Establishing groups is kinda what I do by now: I found people who were interested, got a Saturday scheduled, prepped a project, and emailed my people. Did I know what I was doing? Kind of. Ish. Did it matter? No time to worry about that, because the wheels were already turning...