Oh my gosh, you guys. Seriously. I was all “Hey! Facebook wants me to get 600 likes!” and you were all, “Eff you, Facebook! We’ll show you 600 likes!” and now there are 731 likes and what does it all mean?!
Before we get to the winner of the finest custom portrait to ever be custom portraited – one that I sincerely hope gets a place of honour in the winners home, preferably above the fireplace or the bed, or at least somewhere highly visible so you have to explain to everyone who walks through your door what the monstrosity is and who drew it (“Um…it’s the husband of this…lady? No, no. We’ve never met. She’s, um, she’s on the Internets? You know…one of those bloggers? Yeah, it was a contest and I, uh, I won, so… You know, let’s just put it under the couch OK?”) before all that, I have some learning to lay down on you.
Did you know that you shouldn’t be saying “All of _____”, you should be saying “All_____”? The “of” is totally unnecessary! Likewise, “towards” is not a thing. It’s TOWARD. These two lessons brought to you by Kitty, the woman I have never met in real life, but who was tasked with reading through my entire book and correcting my numerous writer’s tics, two of which I have just mentioned and the others shall go with me to the grave (and no, unnecessarily long sentences with too many commas wasn’t one of the other ones, why do you ask?)
I really wish Kitty would edit my entire life, blog posts, emails, love letters, the whole shebang, because I am the best for thinking everything is locked down with spelling and grammar, and then noticing eleven mistakes after I press send/publish. But she doesn’t, so instead you get me, unedited and unfiltered. Writer’s tics and all.
ANYWAY. To get the winner of this majestic piece of art I first had to figure out how to export my list of Facebook likes, which was a delightful chore I decided to tackle at 11:20 pm on a night that I had to be up at 7 the next morning, because planning (and for those of you wondering why 7.5 hours is not enough sleep, I say to you molars! Molars is why!)
When I had compiled the list I did some very high-tech copying and pasting into a word document, and then I took a trip over to Random.org and generated a random number.
Screen shot of this intricate business below, for proof.
So number 36! How YOU doin’? I headed back to my word document and counted down to the thirty-sixth fan, and FEE WRIGHT! You are it! come on down! So Fee, here’s what you need to do. Choose your finest photo, preferably one featuring you in the grip of a beefy Neanderthal man, waist-deep in water under a shooting star, and email it to me at info (at) sweetmadeleine (dot) ca.
Then I will print this photo, put on my white gloves and take it to the artist himself, who will probably be in the midst of something terribly artist-like, such as watching bro movies wrist-deep in a bag of Doritos (don’t worry, he uses the orange chip dust for shading) and he will get to work on your custom magnificence.
And, not that any of you will be doubting the quality of Adam’s work or anything, but I feel the need to specify that this is not going to be some haphazard two-minute sketch on the back of an old phone bill. This is going to be legit. Thick paper, a signed and numbered copy, perhaps a certificate of authenticity and maybe even a frame if I get really organized – although I see that Fee lives in Australia, so this may be dependant on how ridiculous the shipping is going to be. I mean, money is no object!
Also, because you guys just went so above and beyond I will try to match your enthusiasm levels by wrangling my husband into doing a series of in-progress shoots, or perhaps a video explaining the inspiration behind his work. It will be exciting, don’t worry. If he starts rambling I will secretly cut to Olive.
Anyway, Fee! Congratulations! You have a delightful name, and soon you will have a delightful portrait to grace the walls of your home. And the internet. I will post it on the internet, so don’t be sending me any nudie pics. (Adam: “Nudie pics are not only acceptable, but encouraged. It’s art, Madeleine“)