{Not a Comic: Thoughts on being an Artist}

This is really just a brain dump, that I may or may not illustrate.

Sometimes, being a writer, and being smart, and being creative sucks and is so painful. Truman Capote may or may not have said about “In Cold Blood” that when he was writing his book, all he could do was cry and think about how good his book could be. I do this same thing. But the problem is ART: writing, creating, rewriting, recreating, re-arting: it means sitting down. It means taking the punches. It means working and working and working til you cry and doubt yourself and think you’re no good but you keep going anyway.

You keep going despite what you feel about yourself.
As a woman, you keep going despite that time of the month.
You keep fighting against the dark.
You just keep writing. No matter what.

You keep going despite the bad thoughts in your head.
You keep going despite no MFA programs so far accepting you (and all the people who tell you, don’t worry you’ll get in somewhere, well meaning though they are)
You keep punching away at the status quo, the what ifs, the “don’t-you-know-your-art-form-will-be-obsolete-soon”. You keep trying.
Just keep art-ing. Creating.

And that’s really hard. Whether anyone reads or not, notices or not, there you are, your own little ship in the distance, pushing forward. You keep being funny and deep and introspective and wondering because that’s who you are. That’s what you need.
Despite the little voice in the back that tells you you aren’t good enough.
There’s another voice deeper telling you that you ARE.

Yes, ignorance is bliss. Yes, life would be SO MUCH EASIER if you were dumb.
Life would be SO MUCH EASIER if you just sat down, took the damn office job, and accepted 80 plus years of status quo: diets, white picket fences, and an eventual pill addiction to just make your sad, addled brain quiet.

But you won’t. You love heartbreak like you love joy, because it helps you remember why you write.
The day that things are different is the day that matters.

Fight. . . against the dying of the night. . . or some such nonsense.

On another note, there may be some changes here soon. I’ve been encountering a lot of BRAVE AS HELL comic blogs out there (RobotHugs and Hyperbole and a Half) that actually discuss… well, real stuff. Real problems the artists have. Depression. Identity. And, along with learning a lot more about who I am and about myself as a person, I realized… Maybe I should make my blog/comic/thing more brave. More real. More about things I genuinely struggle with and don’t know how to process. More… human. So heads up: messy topics, human topics, important topics are coming up. Real stuff.

Because the only way to acceptance, love, and understanding, really, is transparency and vulnerability. Maybe, if I want to love and understand the dark places of myself, I need to make them, well, a lot more transparent. Vulnerable.

Make it so.

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One thought on “{Not a Comic: Thoughts on being an Artist}

  1. Pingback: {Feminism, Part One} | The Blob Blog

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