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The anthology of my daily life. |
| I have started a million blogs, and I have failed at keeping up on 999,999 of them. I'm hoping that this one sticks, but in all likelihood, I will instead delete this after realizing, full of shame, that I haven't updated it in three months. |
| The people in my life fall into two distinct groups: people who respect creative types, and the Other. The people in my life who respect creative types know that every creator is unique and has a distinct style. While they know that we are all inspired by each other's work in different ways, no two artists can create in exactly the same way. They see the unique quality of each work, written, visual or otherwise, and support their favorite creators emotionally and monetarily. Then...the Other. The Other looks at my artwork and says, "I could do that, it looks easy." The Other hears me talk about writing a book and says, "I think I'm going to write a book, it's not that hard and my story would be a huge hit." The Other finds ways to devalue creatives by insinuating that they're doing something easy, and attempts to make copies of what we make...poor copies. When I've tried to tactfully explain to the Other that creation is about infusing bits and pieces of your own soul into your work and that might be why they're struggling when they try to blatantly ripoff the work around them, they sneer; "the reason why it looks like this is because their work isn't that good to begin with". Unfortunately, the Other is common in my life, and perhaps in your life too. Now, I've taken to a simple, polite retort when the Other says "I could have done that, it looks easy". Yes. But you didn't. You didn't stay up late at night, filling your Google browsing history with odd questions like, "Is it possible to murder someone with a Life Saver". You didn't spend hours upon hours perfecting your paint recipe to get the ideal consistency for your medium. You didn't cry a little when you wrote a beloved character's death, or channel the pain of your trauma into a painting. You did not do these things: you merely copied what you saw, and that's why it has no life, no feeling...no soul. This year, I hope I can detach myself from the Others in my life and focus on building a strong network of fellow creatives and respectful non-creatives so I can share what I love with the world around me. |
| I'm standing on the top of a mountain. The climb was difficult, but I'm here. The view is spectacular. To my left, fuzzy blue-green trees shelter the forest floor from my view; I cannot see what's there, but I can see how lush and wondrous it is. The path leading to the forest is daunting and overgrown, but not impossible to traverse. It will take all of my energy to make it through, and that gives me pause; do I have enough energy to walk such a complicated path? To my right, the landscape is quite different. There are fewer trees and the terrain is decidedly less intimidating. There are buildings scattered throughout, promising comfort and a modicum of stability. Stability. That word once meant a full-time job to me, where someone signed my paychecks. As I've gotten older, I realize that while a constant paycheck is a type of stability, there is another stability I'm lacking...emotional stability. I'm not promised emotional gratification and peace if I enter the forest, but it makes me decidedly less anxious than taking the path to civilization. However, the unknown of the forest gives me pause...what if I don't make it through? What if I don't have the energy to traverse the obstacles, and I have to backtrack and find the path to comfort again? How will that affect my family? So, I sit on the mountain. I feel no contentment...no tranquility. I know that inaction will not guarantee safety for me. But what path to take? |
| I need to find a good workspace. I have space at home that is perfectly adequate, but because it's at my house and I work a full-time job, when I get home there are a million things to do. Which means there are a million distractions that stop me from doing what I need to do, which is to finish editing the first draft of my book. I'm thinking about renting a spot in a local community workspace. Has anyone done that before, and if so, what was your experience like? |
| I was playing The Sims recently and my Sim developed a fear of never fulfilling their dreams. Like everyone else who plays The Sims, I'm trying to escape from that fear, but it got me thinking about my own goals for my future. I want to be a full-time writer and artist. I want to wake up each morning and grab a cup of coffee, then dive into research and write articles and essays or write short fiction. I want to weave worlds of education and sometimes a little chaos. Oh, if I could do that full-time, I think I'd finally be happy. I think. This might be a "grass is greener" situation. |
| "What is your book about?" I am positively terrified of this question. As a matter of fact, this exact question is why I commonly keep my writing to myself...because I don't know how to answer it. Of course, I know what my book is about but I simply cannot distill it into a few sentences. Every time I've tried to rehearse an answer, it comes out as "It's...there's a guy...a few guys...well so there are three guys and so much swearing and they have problems," and that's really it. I wrote the whole story, all 100K+ words of it, and I cannot sum it up into a short description. So...that's what I'm working on today. I'm going to sit down with my book and come up with a short description and/or die trying. |
| I've written the first draft of my book, I've had the first draft printed and marked up the copy to excess during editing...now, why can't I seem to implement the changes and move on to the second draft? Maybe a part of me is a little intimidated by the fact that I've "finished" the book. I say "finished" because of course, it isn't finished...but it's closer. After this book, I have two more to go in my trilogy and then it'll be time to say goodbye to the characters I've developed over the past decade. It's a strange feeling. Do any of you grow attached to your characters and if so, how do you properly send them off in your mind? |
| I am a constant analyst. I have to understand the world around me in detail. If someone cuts me off at a red light, I need to know why they did that. Were they late for work? Did they have to pee? Did I look like I would be too slow to get stuck behind? This need to understand the world has worked both for and against me over the years. One way that it has benefited me in a difficult way is that as I get older, I must understand myself. In my last entry, I talked about how self-doubt cripples me and I've been trying to understand why. I think, after a lot of reflection, I've figured it out. When I was a child, I loved to write and draw. I won't go into detail, but my upbringing wasn't special because, like many children, I come from an abusive household. Drawing and writing were my two escapes from my reality. I would write about beautiful places and describe them in great, vibrant detail. I would draw dinosaurs, horses, beautiful women that I wished I could look like, and quiet mountains. I could not control the trauma around me or its effect on me, but I could create worlds for myself where I could find respite for a short time. Initially, my parents, teachers, and friends were supportive of my creations. They often told me that I was a gifted writer and artist and that encouraged me to create even more. Through my middle school years, I was convinced that someday I would become an author or a professional artist. After all, my parents had already completely discouraged my dream of becoming a paleontologist by the time I was 11, they couldn't object to a serious profession like journalism or becoming an art teacher, right? Wrong. So wrong. By the time I was in my mid-teens and starting to look at colleges, my parents began to criticize my work more and more. Whenever I would express interest in pursuing a creative career, they would tell me I probably didn't have what it takes and I'd end up failing. I became so discouraged that for a time, I stopped writing altogether and ended up going to college for business - I dropped out after a year. It wasn't my path and I could not force myself to continue. It's been 20-odd years since then and I am still climbing out of the pit of discouragement they dug for me. I feel it whenever I want to show someone my writing or post a new painting...the doubt. Voices in my head tell me that I'm not good enough and that I'll never make it as a creative professional. Even though I've been published several times, am a published illustrator and have a small, supportive following on social media, I still hear my parents in my mind. I wonder when those voices will finally become quiet. I do not believe the voices will go away until I can come to an important understanding with myself: whatever I pursue must be for me, and not simply to prove everyone else wrong. If I'm going to go down the path of becoming a creative professional, it has to be because I love what I'm doing, not because I want to shove my success in someone's face. If I must prove something to someone, I must prove my worth and skill to myself. That's what I'm working on in 2023; that is my only resolution. To work on becoming the person I'm meant to be, instead of the person I'm expected to be. |
| I've hesitated when it comes to writing for too long. Either I feel like I'm not good enough, or inspiration is in short supply, or SOMETHING happens and I can't bring myself to write. I don't really believe in New Year's resolutions, but I feel like I'm at a major turning point. I have to commit to being the writer and artist I've always dreamed of being, or I have to lay down my brushes and pens. I can't continue in this ridiculous cycle of creative self-sabotage any longer. |
| I did it. During NaNoWriMo, I finished the first draft of my first book. After nearly 20 years of writing this story...it's done (ish). I've started and stopped this story so much over the past few decades that I doubted I'd ever finish it. It's not that it's a particularly complicated story; it's a fiction mashup of romance, action, suspense, drama and probably comedy? It's a big messy story, that's what it is. It took me a long time to write it because, like me, the story had to evolve over time. The characters, their mannerisms, their morals..me..we all had to grow and learn before the story could make any sense. In many ways, I was writing this story as a way to deal with abuse and trauma in my life and until I could process it myself, it wasn't possible for me to write the conclusion to the story. It's a strange feeling, seeing the first draft of my book printed and ready for a lot of red marks during the editing process. I know that I'll grow even more while I edit...and so will my characters. |
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