It feels as if it’s been a million years since I wrote anything outside of a research paper for school. I started writing when I was 11 or 12. I would write poetry and short stories, usually in the realm of horror/suspense/weird. I wrote to work through teen rage and I felt a lot of times that I was not good at it or that I was a one-trick pony. As I started working more, I stopped creating as much. Suddenly, I am in my mid-thirties and have no name for myself, all the while feeling that if I had just kept going I would have something now. However, that’s not how it played out, so ‘tough noogie’ as my dad would have said.
I have always been artsy and creative. As far as drawing and painting was concerned, I was frustrated too. I could draw, but not what I felt was good or interesting and I still struggled, so I stopped doing that too. Looks like I was better at making myself fail. I was too afraid of potential success that all the UNsuccess was easier to attain.
I was in and out of college for years not having a concise path. In 2012 I challenged myself to a science degree. During my last semester in spring 2016 I finally had time for a “fun” class, so I took Drawing II. I had done the first go around back in 2000 when I first started college, but I let my own inhibitions get to me. I hadn’t taken an art class since 2007 when I did a painting portfolio.
Here’s an interesting thing:
I found that the length of time I spent not drawing may have helped my ability in such a way…. I had spent so much time analyzing data and looking for perfection in school projects that when I took my first drawing class in 15 years, I noticed that I hadn’t lost my skills, but was, in fact, better at seeing the littles nuances and details that caused so much distress in the past. The work I produced may not have been exact or the best but my confidence was boosted knowing that I couldn’t tell I hadn’t drawn much in almost two decades.
I made a decision at the end of this summer that I would start writing more and go back to the being creative individual I once was, to stop making excuses about not being creative, and to stop telling myself that I spent all my creativity making food at work. I didn’t know what to draw so I decided to draw the insane happenstances I encounter in life. I didn’t know what to write about so I decided to write from other perspectives, even that of inanimate objects. I decided to write about not being able to write. I decided to go back to those ideas I once had and breathe life back into unfinished projects, which inadvertently gives rise to fresh ideas.
It’s part relearning how to hobby and part facing the fact that there are some things I am good at and some things I am better cut out for. It’s funny how I have come full-circle (as amoeba-like that circle is) – back to embracing creativity and not caring about being part of a droning workforce which struggles through life without enjoyment (I’m not hating on this facet of society). The point is realizing – if not again – that one paves her way; the way does not pave her.
So the other point is this: Write, draw, create. Do it. Make a submission. No one can see the work if it’s not out there and it’s healthy to believe that rejection exists to make room for improvements.
Now back to practicing all these things I just said.