Dec 16 2009
By
Anthony | Filled under:
Art,
Writing
Much like last year, the holidays have got me in an artistic funk. And much like last year, I’ve let that funk keep me from enjoying any sort of creativity as well as enjoying the holidays.
The whole scenario has got me thinking about my own priorities and where the many things in my life lie. In my mind I have the following things that I try to prioritize.
My Family
My Guilty Pleasures
Astronomy
Video Games
– EVE Online
– World of Warcraft
– Everything else
My Creativity
Writing
Drawing/Painting
Photography
My Career
Continued Education
Striving to excel at what I do
Truth-be-told, since I have started writing or calling myself a writer, most everything on that list has suffered except the family stuff. Now, I’m sure Brad will tell me that if I want to be a writer I have to make sacrifices and I he wouldn’t be wrong. But when I consider that statement and then consider the sacrifices that I need to make, well… frankly, I don’t want to be a writer that much.
The key to the puzzle is, not calling myself a writer but rather, an artist. Is it semantics? Certainly, but the assertion that I am a writer carries the burden of actually writing and doing so with purpose. That is where the problem lies.
There are times when I have some brilliant idea that I simply cannot wait to get on paper. In those moments there is nothing I want to be more than a writer. But when there is no burning story idea that is threatening to burst from me, writing is a chore. A chore that I dread. A chore that I avoid. That avoidance is a source of guilt and to my feeble mind, a sign of failure.
Now, calling myself an artist is different. As an artist I am identified as a creative individual. To take that a bit further, a creative individual who produces some sort of physical or virtual art. But there is no imposed idea of what sort of art. Only that when I have an idea, be it prose, visual or otherwise, I run with it and feed off whatever creative energy is there.
The bottom line is… I don’t want to be a novelist. I don’t want to make a living writing. I don’t think I can make a living as an artist but I am certain that I can harvest the enjoyment of creating something that I think is beautiful in its own way without the soul crushing burden of output expectations. And quite frankly, that is all I desire.