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Right now, I’m sitting in my studio, watching the breeze move through the pine trees. The cosmos and lilies are in full bloom—like a rainbow. Cardinals are singing, and I’ve just put away the last of my art supplies from last weekend’s Wisconsin painting retreat. I always wait a few days before unpacking. There’s something renewing in the pause—the slowing down—and this time, it’s left me reflecting on the magic that unfolded.
Every once in a while, if I’m lucky, I get that feeling: ah, this painting is complete.
But more often, I’ve had to teach myself to recognize that point consciously—not just intuitively.
It usually means stepping away. Reminding myself to stop before I think it’s done. Only then, after creating that space, can I return with clearer eyes and truly see what’s needed—if anything at all.
The same is true for writing. I love the process of getting words onto the page—it feels like covering a blank canvas with joyful color. But I need to step back before I can see what’s needed next.
Sometimes, that clarity takes months or even years.
In last week’s essay, I asked if you’d be interested in seeing a piece from my fiction novel. I was overwhelmed by your kind, generous replies—thank you. Your encouragement gave me the nudge to share my prologue with you this week.
And since Beth Kempton‘s SoulCircle Summer of Substack essay festival begins this week, the timing feels just right. I’m looking forward to reading others’ essays and sharing this small beginning from my own book.
This week’s theme is Specificity, which fits beautifully: my prologue is a fairy tale beginning—something very particular that eventually opens into a much deeper, more detailed story. It’s a novel I began writing twenty years ago. It started as a middle-grade book, long before I ever picked up a paintbrush to for my whimsical paintings.
Eventually, I burned out on writing. Critiques wore me down. I lost my voice. Life pulled me in another direction.
That’s when I began painting again in 2009.
Friends encouraged me to share my artwork. I launched my online painting classes. And slowly, I began to recognize that I’d been painting the characters from my novel and learning to tell the bigger story.
After my mother passed away in 2016, I returned to the manuscript—and it evolved into something entirely new. It became a cozy fantasy for adults about a woman who steps into her paintings.
That original idea—so specific and filled with imagination—blended with broader themes of healing, intention, and finding meaning in life and art. It has become something deeply personal, playful, and alive.
Below is a glimpse into that world. Among the paintings I’m sharing today is one of the Snooters—tree-dwelling beings with translucent, color-filled noses that reveal their emotions.
I hope you enjoy this peek into my creative process—where painting and writing finally meet.
Here’s a glimpse of the story—an excerpt from the prologue. This fairy tale–style opening is written as if from one of the main character’s childhood journals, offering a window into the heart of the story: the moment she first meets Edo, a cave-dwelling Snooter and artist, and learns how to step into her paintings.
There once was a Snooter named Edo who lived inside the most ancient cave in all of Houndstooth.
As you probably know, most Snooters don’t live in caves. They prefer the tallest trees, so they can swing from branches and climb up and down the trunks to get into town.
Edo loved to draw. Still, no one ever seemed to love his drawings.
So he stayed in the cave and painted all day, hoping no one would ever know his secret.
Until one morning, the girl from the castle came down the hill, passing through the singing flower fields, talking to toads, and picking mushrooms along the river, until she happened upon his cave.
Now Edo, at first, was very frightened. He assumed she would ridicule him, just as all the others had laughed at his drawings.
But the girl loved Edo’s drawings.
After that, she came to the cave every day to watch him draw his stories on the walls.
Soon the entire cave was filled with drawings. So she brought her paints, and they colored them in together.
When she said they should go to the castle and paint in the garden, Edo shivered, and his feathers rose up and down his back.
He wasn’t ready to show anyone else his artwork, but said if she wanted, he could make it so she could step into their paintings when they looked like water and dive into secret worlds.
Of course, the girl wanted to explore and visit other worlds very much.
And so Edo filled their paintings with magic.
Who knows if this prologue will make it into the final novel—but it’s a little fairy tale that warms my heart. I hope it brings something sweet to yours, too.
I’d love to hear from you.
Has anything been calling to you lately—something creative or even a little wild? Ironically, the Snooter painting above is titled What Is Calling You, and it’s something that has been nudging me for years.
Is there a project or story that’s asking to be seen again?
Let me know if you’d like me to share more from the story sometime—I’d truly love to know.
I always treasure hearing what’s stirring in your world.
Sending so much love,
xo Juliette
P.S. Lately, I’ve been feeling called back to the basics in my paintings—just letting myself play with paint, follow color, and see where it leads. That same spirit is woven into all of my online courses, too. They’re not about getting it “right”—they’re about reconnecting with joy, trusting your creative voice, and finding your own rhythm. If you’d like to see more of what I teach, you can explore my painting courses and free resources here.
All photos and artwork by Juliette Crane
This essay was originally published on my Substack, Living the Way of the Happy Painter.
