Coward's Way Out

I'm doing it again. You know exactly what I'm talking about, I bet. I'm passing off very little work as my writing for the day. It's embarrassing, really. I can hardly look at myself. Especially since there isn't a mirror in my bedroom. Why do I do this though? I know what I'm doing is going to annoy me, that I'll have to bring it up to you, my Internet confessional, but I don't quit. I just keep coming back for more, and every time wonder why I'm back in this same place again.

See, the thing is, what I'm fantastic at is being in the middle of a project. Once the furniture's all been moved in, I can plug in the wires and hook up the cables. It's just that groundwork stuff that bugs me. Oh, and finishing. Don't even get me started on that whole mess.

I think that says something about the type of creative mind I have. I need structure, but it can't be rigid. I need freedom, but it can't be infinite. I need conditions to be just right or I'll be a tortured artist until they are.

It's not as glamorous as it looks, you know. You don't have much to eat. You have to take every little job that can pay you. Then there's the whole burning your masterpieces for warmth in the winter thing. Of course, I'm taking all of this from "Rent," but it seems accurate enough.

Something just keeps telling me I have to be tortured to be valid. I'm not getting paid for art, so I really have to experience the squalor while I can, right?

No. Not right. Now is when I need to grow. To act like the professional I one day hope to be. To stop making excuses and just start making. Doing. Being.

I just hope I'm not the only one who needs this reminder. It'd be awfully silly for me to go and blog it then.