This, my friends, is one of those times.
Today, I have a cold. As many people who have had colds might have experienced, your mind is a little more......loose than it usually is. Whether it just gave up trying to make sense when it couldn't pull enough oxygen from your deprived lungs that have been breathing through a plugged nose all day, or simply because your mind is much more prone to wonder when you're lying in bed doing nothing but consuming copious amounts of orange juice and adding to the huge pile of disgusting tissues in your wastebasket, is a question that I don't really care to answer. Mostly because I just don't care about it.
Anyways, I spent a lot of time thinking today. Thinking, and planning. I have a hefty goal ahead of me. Well, several, actually - to get into an art school, which, from what my art teacher says, is very competitive and very expensive (which is ironic, considering how successful most artists are after college), to write and draw and color this comic of mine, to prepare to be in another country next year.....it all really starts to pile up. And, believe me, that stresses me to no end.
I admit to being (somewhat, although not lately) prone to having panic attacks, and also unable to take criticism very well. The latter is not because I think I'm above criticism - it's just that every time someone says something like "your drawing sucks", I go into Horrific Emotional Black Hole mode, and curl up into fetal position while sad music plays in the background and rain pelts at my pathetic figure. Sad, pathetic, and really not kidding - that is how it feels. Good, constructive criticism is all fine - but remarks like 'hey, you're messing this up' really set me off. And that's no fun. And it's really hard on someone who is about to pursue a career in a field that's filled with remarks like that.
This year, I am trying to write two stories at once - one in book form, one in comic form. The book is one I have been working on unfalteringly since I was about eight years old, writing and re-writing until my brain hurt and my fingers were sore from tapping on the keys and I was about to explode with frustration at my writer's block. What really got to me - and what gets to me still - is that I never made it beyond the first freaking chapter. GAH! I hated that stupid Chapter 1 heading every time I saw it. That disgusting testament to my own inability to continue and FINISH it.
On the plus side.....this story was really what taught me to write. I mean, really write. It all started as an attempt to catch up to my older brother, who was a talented (although still flawed) writer at age 12. And then it began to escalate! I started reading more books, writing more and more often, actually studying the art of writing.
There have been people who have told me that I have a lot of talent in art and in writing. The truth is, I am not talented. I started drawing when I was a little kid, and I drew like a little kid does. I drew rainbows and hills and flowers, because they were the only things that I thought I could make any good. Then I started drawing people, and when my shyness sort of separated me from the rest of my classmates, and when I went through a horrible crisis in my life, I found sanctuary in the images I could create. And when I started to write, I brought the two together, to make stories in my head. The gift I have is imagination, not drawing or writing. And that was all I needed. That, and the need and the want to keep improving. For a long time, and still to this day, what I write and what I draw is what helps me feel like someone worth acknowledging. I don't even NEED acknowledgement, really - I take the greatest pleasure in the joy of creation.
My greatest friends and most precious treasures are my stories. I love them and take care of them in my head. I have real flesh-and-blood friends that I love and spend time with, but when they aren't with me and I start to feel lonely, I can shift my focus to my stories.
I suppose that's the main reason I can't finish anything, and I have a hard time letting people look at my stuff. If someone thought it was stupid and told me so, it would be like.....I can't really describe it. It's like something I love and devote my entire time to is suddenly realized to be a waste of time. It literally breaks my heart, and I don't know if I can handle it.
Perhaps I'm just being stupid. Perhaps you're thinking 'Oh brother, this girl needs to get a life'. Well, I'd like you to remember that all people are different. As much as we'd like to think that we all conform to a certain style - whether of clothing or of thinking - we are all individuals who all function differently. I am not you, and you are not me. Simple as that, really.
Anyway.....had to get this out of my head, I suppose. My air-deprived brain spews out the most appalling things....
