a meta thing
I'm having a weird night. It's...I'm listening to good music, and I'm writing, but the music is making me think. Not about what I'm writing, sadly, but why I'm writing. What do I want out of it, what do I want to gain by doing it, all that. Why do I write as opposed to paint, or write songs, or knit?
I've always wanted to be able to be a painter, or a drawer (sketch artist? something?) or something like that. I always admire people who can take pencils, pens, paint, whatever, and create visual works of art out of them. I can't do it; I just don't have that gift. I did take a drawing class once, and I learned some stuff and drew some not-terrible things, but I've forgotten most of what I learned and I doubt I could do it again.
I've always wanted to be crafty. I can cross-stitch, but I've never finished anything. I can't knit, or crochet, and honestly I think the world is better off that way. (My iWife tried to teach me to crochet once. It did not go well.)
I would love to be able to write songs. Music means so much to me, always has, and I have an immense amount of respect for those who can do that, who can turn words into lyrics and add a melody. Not my gift, but I wish it was sometimes.
I never did want to be a poet. I wrote poetry, back when I was a teenager, and it was pretty much crap, but that's what you get for being an angst-ridden outcast with uncertain sexual identity in adolescence. I don't think I have any of my poems left these days, and believe me, that's all for the good.
But I write. I write stories, I write novels without endings, I write explicit and non-explicit, I write pretty much anything I can. I don't think I'm terrible at it; in my less doubting days, I think I'm actually fairly decent at some of it. I could be better, obviously, but can't we all? Isn't that the point? If you stop growing as an artist, in whatever medium you use to express yourself, then what's the point in doing it any longer?
I'm proud of my writing, and I'm proud of the stories I've been able to tell and the ones I'm still trying to tell. I have a cast of people in my head, now: Gil, Adam, David, Christian, Stephen, Damien, Kyle, Sam, Simon, Alex, Chris, Travis, Maggie, Toby, Kate, Will, Jackie, Sara...and so on. (Most of you may recognize a couple of these names, but I think the only one who would get them all would be
sanders.)
But why isn't it enough? Why can't I say "I am an artist, and words are my medium." Why can't I be content with writing and stop wishing for more? When do I stop wishing I could paint/draw/write songs/knit/write awesomely funny blog posts/etc?
I love writing. I can do it pretty much anywhere, it's unobtrusive, and it doesn't require much more than a pen or pencil and something on which to write. (I prefer to type, because I can't keep up with my thoughts otherwise and my hand cramps, but I can write longhand.) And most of the time, it's enough for me to say "I have this creative outlet", or "I have this hobby"(1) but sometimes...less so.
Do any of you out there feel the same way? That despite being good at one thing, and focused on one thing, you always wish there was something else you could do and do well? Not instead of your current passion, but in addition to?
(1) It's not really a hobby. It's an imperative. I have begged off social events to write; I have stayed up way past my bedtime to finish scenes; I've forgotten to eat because I'm so into what I"m doing.
and now that I've written this post, I'm going back to fic.
This entry was originally posted at http://blueraccoon.dreamwidth.org/1023886.html. Please comment there. |
comments
I've always wanted to be able to be a painter, or a drawer (sketch artist? something?) or something like that. I always admire people who can take pencils, pens, paint, whatever, and create visual works of art out of them. I can't do it; I just don't have that gift. I did take a drawing class once, and I learned some stuff and drew some not-terrible things, but I've forgotten most of what I learned and I doubt I could do it again.
I've always wanted to be crafty. I can cross-stitch, but I've never finished anything. I can't knit, or crochet, and honestly I think the world is better off that way. (My iWife tried to teach me to crochet once. It did not go well.)
I would love to be able to write songs. Music means so much to me, always has, and I have an immense amount of respect for those who can do that, who can turn words into lyrics and add a melody. Not my gift, but I wish it was sometimes.
I never did want to be a poet. I wrote poetry, back when I was a teenager, and it was pretty much crap, but that's what you get for being an angst-ridden outcast with uncertain sexual identity in adolescence. I don't think I have any of my poems left these days, and believe me, that's all for the good.
But I write. I write stories, I write novels without endings, I write explicit and non-explicit, I write pretty much anything I can. I don't think I'm terrible at it; in my less doubting days, I think I'm actually fairly decent at some of it. I could be better, obviously, but can't we all? Isn't that the point? If you stop growing as an artist, in whatever medium you use to express yourself, then what's the point in doing it any longer?
I'm proud of my writing, and I'm proud of the stories I've been able to tell and the ones I'm still trying to tell. I have a cast of people in my head, now: Gil, Adam, David, Christian, Stephen, Damien, Kyle, Sam, Simon, Alex, Chris, Travis, Maggie, Toby, Kate, Will, Jackie, Sara...and so on. (Most of you may recognize a couple of these names, but I think the only one who would get them all would be
sanders.)
But why isn't it enough? Why can't I say "I am an artist, and words are my medium." Why can't I be content with writing and stop wishing for more? When do I stop wishing I could paint/draw/write songs/knit/write awesomely funny blog posts/etc?
I love writing. I can do it pretty much anywhere, it's unobtrusive, and it doesn't require much more than a pen or pencil and something on which to write. (I prefer to type, because I can't keep up with my thoughts otherwise and my hand cramps, but I can write longhand.) And most of the time, it's enough for me to say "I have this creative outlet", or "I have this hobby"(1) but sometimes...less so.
Do any of you out there feel the same way? That despite being good at one thing, and focused on one thing, you always wish there was something else you could do and do well? Not instead of your current passion, but in addition to?
(1) It's not really a hobby. It's an imperative. I have begged off social events to write; I have stayed up way past my bedtime to finish scenes; I've forgotten to eat because I'm so into what I"m doing.
and now that I've written this post, I'm going back to fic.
This entry was originally posted at http://blueraccoon.dreamwidth.org/1023886.html. Please comment there. |
comments