Emily Page is a professional artist who also blogs for fun.
Being raised by two dirty hippies in a VW camper, Emily Page fell in love with art early as a way to entertain herself on long camping trips with no TV. As a result, she studied art in college at Wake Forest University, and has been a professional artist for about 15 years. She has used art to understand, interpret, and express her feelings about various challenges that she's faced over the years.She's also used it to make people laugh. She is a lover of the absurd and whimsical, of honesty and openness, of facing the darkness head on, of mac and cheese.
While she never fancied herself a writer, Page does come from a family of writers - in particular, her grandfather, Irvine H. Page, and her grandmother, Beatrice Allen Page, were both published authors. Page started blogging at the insistence of a friend who thought it would be a good avenue for promoting her artwork. Little did she know that her artwork and writing about dementia would strike a cord within so many people.
So now Page has decided to buckle down and assemble and add to her writings and collection of paintings about dementia. Says Page, "This is a terrifying endeavor, because, as mentioned before, and I don't consider myself a writer. But the encouragement of friends and family (and a fair few strangers!) has helped me to decide to take the leap and hope I grow my wings on the way down - or at least not get whacked in the face by too many branches before I hit the ground."
You can see her art at
http://emilypageart.com/ and read her blog at http://emilypageart.net/.
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I tried using the voice recognition software on my phone to take some notes while I was riding in the car, but it wasn’t very successful. It was, however, highly entertaining. Here is a preview of the first paragraph of the first chapter of my book, as understood by my phone:
“Running for president Roosevelt died of an overdose you can tell me all the stories you want about how awesome your daughter but you will never convince me that you’re getting close. If not I will probably have dinner before the concert and I think we can try to raise their kids and it does not say that. I said he was fan freakin tastic my dad would throw in the 1400 temporal dementia at the age of 55 she started trying to get her ass out here so I’m not bugging her cause she’s got we can talk more later about all the work I got it better than us.”
A second attempt resulted in:
“I’m starting from the night I was just got out of the house but you wasn’t even close to as good as mine I mean person the Crawford hotel close on a 2014 745. I started saying it’s not bad for a minute I’ll be back later. My dad is better than your dad for the house. I’m going to get dropped off.”
Compelling, no? It reads a little like the first chapter of The Sound and The Fury, I think. I’m tempted to read the entire book to my phone in the car and then send excerpts to publishers. I’m expecting a Pulitzer.