Rebecca Wilcox
@rebeccawilcox
SFFH illustrator/writer, SAHP. Coffee, cats, & fountain pens. Brown Ajah. RevPit 2020, HiveMentor 2022. SLF Diverse Writers/Worlds finalist 2024. She/her. Hard of hearing. Not straight. No AI, ever. Never ever.
If I can’t think of something I want to sketch, I just draw Taffy. She’s always doing something weird.
LRP - Reposting with the full ALT text, because it’s just too good.
“Why don’t you post on Threads, Rebecca?” Well, while it does seem to be a rolling series of dumpster fires fed by a gooey sludge of bots, ragebait, and a rotating selection of Disk Horse’s greatest hits, mostly it just never seems to work on my phone.
On the plus side, Spouse got me a wonderful anniversary gift this year. This is a heavy pen, and I think I prefer it for drawing over writing. I still can’t beat my beloved stub nib TWSBI Eco/Go and Faber Castell Grip for my writing.
I printed a 1/3 scale ball-jointed doll hand. It’s a mediocre print and I assembled it badly, but it’s still ridiculously fun to play with, so it lives on my desk now.
Spouse gave me my holiday gift early. I don’t have enough pens for this. 😂
I have tried to delete too much at once, probably too quickly. 🫠
The Great Serpent of Ronka demands coffee and snacks, but it’s almost bedtime, and the Great Serpent of Ronka must be up early in the morning.
My sister dropped off a present just before I went on vacation. I have, of course, completely forgotten everything she told me about how to use it in the last few weeks. I suppose it’s time to misprint some horrors!
Here’s a video of her dragging a shoe around while singing the song of her people, which is how I’ll always remember her.
Megan’s favorite spot has always been on my left side, smashed up against my thigh while I read stories to my younger daughter at bedtime. My hearing disability means I can’t hear purring, but 9 yo said she would purr loudly while I was reading.
She had a few bites of breakfast, drank some water, and cuddled up to my foot. We had a good morning. I took some photos because she was being sweet.
But when Megan would nap in the hallway during the day, she’d still dump some shoes on the floor and sleep near the shoe rack. Not on the shoes, never on them—that was Robin's spot. But always right there next to them.
On the day he died, Robin still wanted nothing more than to cuddle our shoes. He passed in my arms at the vet, so Megan didn't get to see him go.
And the wandering stopped. The night-time yowling stopped. Robin still laid on his shoes, but Megan cuddled up next to him and he gave her baths instead. Megan didn't care about the shoes, but she cared about him. They bonded as tightly as a pair of cats can.
The first time Megan saw Robin, she pranced up to him and started gnawing on the top of his skull. He bent an ear down and gave me a look that said, "This isn't what I had in mind." But Megan was smitten.
Robin loved shoes so much that he once fell asleep with his head inside one of my rollerblades, and I thought he was dead. Shoes were his drug of choice, and he indulged every single day.
I have once again figured out how to mix Payne’s Gray from six different colors. 😅