Well ... I am not sure when the right time will be to do a little of that writing I have been talking about recently - again. Maybe I should rather reflect on how psychologists who read this in 50 years time will have a ball trying to figure my head out, due to all my wavering and vacillation when it comes to choosing and prioritizing creative projects, and then over-analyzing myself and freezing before I even get started.
Or maybe I will just start some time, when I have to force myself to use half an hour here or 15 minutes there, when I'd rather sleep and rest, and then post the result tomorrow.
I think I shall.
But right now, no matter the idealism, it just doesn't seem tenable to stand up and say: 'Now I will really prioritize Creative Project A so I can show what I am made of and do this before I die'.
No, now is the time to be patient and chip away at this bit by bit and then plan for the future. If that is the wrong choice, so be it, and it is certainly a difficult choice. But I see no other way.
Just another day in parent-land, but fortunately that is also a land with many other green pastures.
But it is okay that I am not trying to be a novel author anymore. As I think I have written about extensively in earlier posts, I was mostly in that game for the wrong reasons despite having some good ideas and some of the right emotions - the right drive.
It is a long story and I really don't care to reiterate it here and now, but suffice to say: Sometimes one can really feel no regrets.
Tried to take at least half the day off and rejuvenate my heart by writing a novella. But I was too tired inside.
The heart needs to rest first, I guess. Then it can open up again and rejuvenate by sharing what is in it.
And somehow, I think, that got stuck in my soul. As a belief now that I'm grown up that I am wasting something precious and becoming less than I could be, by giving up drawing - at least for anything else than doodling once in a while. Maybe illustrating the occasional live-talk or other limited project.
It's hard to explain and I can't 100 percent sure but I think this is the truth. Because I have constantly thought as the primary reason to continue to try to find time and energy and projects to draw ... that I should do this because otherwise 'I'm wasting talent'. But that's not the right motivation. It never was.
I constantly surprise myself. I wanted to have more in common with Tolkien than Hemingway, but I always end up with Hemingway. Or Woolf. Or Dillard, I guess.
I don't measure up to any of them, but we are talking about subject matter here, perhaps the only subject matter there truly is: