Weeks and weeks of it. With a tremulous hand, nervous and exhilarated I’ve been doing the stuff, drawing thinking planning creating. I’ve done my meditations, I ‘gone inside’ I’ve focussed until my pineal gland was erect and ready…but….
SWEET FAT NOTHING.
What do I expect?
Like all creative people with some firm belief in themselves I expect that call.
“Is this Catherine Forsayeth? Creator of that amazing art…those ascerbic clever technically excellent cartoons?”
“We’d like to offer you a contract starting retrospectively to everything you’ve ever done including the rude drawings of 1964 at the back of Sr Philomena’s class. We’ll send our people over for you to look over the contract. No rush, the million dollars is yours just for answering the phone.”
But why shouldn’t it work that way? Abraham Hicks says it will when my vibrations are resonating at the right frequency! Well they are. I checked. The dog died from ear cancer and there are no birds around. That says everything.
Gimme my contract.