I LOVE looking through people’s sketchbooks. I look at my sister’s all the time, even though I’ve seen the pages over and over again. I get kind of jealous at artists. I’m jealous that they can create this stunning visual image out of something in their heads, when all I can do when that happens is write that image. There have been so many times where I wished the scenes I wrote were a picture, or I could storyboard a good fight scene, or I could draw an awesome profile of my characters like they were on a poster, radiating their powerful personalities to all who looked upon them.
But, then I end up with bleh.
And then I stop.
For some reason, there’s a difficulty with my brain when it comes to something like this. Even though I’ve written HORRENDOUS writing in the very beginning, I gut through it to work my way to get beautiful pieces.But I also kept that terrible writing a secret. I still flip out like a mad person when there’s even a possibility of my old journals being dug up and viewed by anyone but me (or even me, to be honest), even if it’s just to clear a box or go through childhood memories.
I’m sure you’re thinking: it can’t be THAT bad. But trust me, this would be you:
And then you’d question my sanity.
Hence why those will never see the light of day EVER EVER EVER EVER!
But despite this, I chose to keep writing, because I needed it and couldn’t breathe without it. Art, like music, has been a desire I can’t seem to wrap my head around. I can’t barrel through the bad to get to the good for some reason. I’m intimidated. I’m overwhelmed. My asshole brain says psh, you’re a writer, not an artist. What the hell are you doing? Are you having a crisis? Get over it. I get a few solid pieces, but then I think they’re flukes. I drop it faster than a hot coal from Mt Vesuvius.
But I still come back to that desire. I still want to burn my hand, because, one day, I’ll come out with a scar so thick that I won’t even burn any longer. It’s just getting to that point that’s the bitch for me.
So, I’ve decided I’m going to get over this. I may cry and want to destroy multiple things in the process, but, to my advantage, destruction is part of my process in all walks of life. That’s why I’m in rugby.
And that’s why my characters most likely have a more than slight hatred for me.
The goal is to just keep going.