An explanation is in order

It's been well over two months since I wrote anything on this blog, and I don't know why. Life is like a rollercoaster, and I guess mine has been going so fast I've barely noticed it going up and down. And when that happens, things just get lost and forgotten about.

I don't have a good excuse, but neither do I want to have one. My life is amazing the way it is, even if it means less time to be typing out long, thought-out blog posts about the creative process or reality of leading an artsy life. I wish it meant I'd spend more of my time creating things, but unfortunately that's not really the case.

The truth is that I've grown lazy lately. I've become the girl I was before making the conscious decision to start a creative life: daydreaming a lot but doing very little.

I've even thought about quitting this thing. I've been filled with self doubt and disbelief in my own abilities to follow my dreams. It's easy to talk about it, and even to act like it. But it's much more difficult to actually get there.

I have written on my fantasy novel for four years now. It's a relatively long time if you think about it. But it flies by so fast.

And I look at people who finish novels every year and publish books at a pace I can barely comprehend. All the while I stand by, struggling with the structure of a normal sentence and hating the process because it's going so slow.

Being an artist is a dreadful thing. Being lost in a story is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. How can you even type? How do the words flow so well one minute and then the next you have no idea how 'spinach' is spelled?

Why is something that fills you with purpose and meaning so difficult and awful? I mean, construction workers get fulfillment from their jobs, too. Why can't I just be building things every day that actually make a difference?

Why do I suck at this art so, so much when it's the only thing I'm good enough at?

Why don't I just give up?

Because if I did, there would be nothing in my life to fill this void. Because if I wasn't a storyteller, I would be nothing at all. Because if I stopped creating sad, painful, heartwrenching things, I would have to actually face all those feelings myself, and it would just build up inside me until I'd go mad.

Because no matter how badly I want to give up, and no matter how hard I try to quit, I always keep coming back. Because I am a storyteller, and storyworld is the only world I know.

Giving up

Today is not the day I'm giving up.