Thursday, September 16, 2010

What the hell did I do?

So. Hiya.

I've got a little voice in the back of my head saying, "Wow, that's a surefire way to promote yourself and your writing: Stop updating your blog for two months (and your Facebook account for one of those two, for all that you used it anyway). And then -- then! Spend some money on a digital piano."

Oh, little voice. Go read some Sylvia Plath and at least sabotage yourself creatively.

This blog only has one follower, who knows what I've been up to (hi, Foose!), but it would probably inspire some responsibility and a sense of accountability in me if I wrote as there were more than one. So here we go:

Since the last post I made, I attended San Diego Comic Con. After that, I spent a month in a warehouse with a few other people, doing an inventory of the ol' archives -- not of original comic book art, but of the reproductions kept on hand (film scans, photostats, etc.) that are most often used when old material gets reprinted.

Both of these were incredible experiences. Even in San Diego, despite the massive crowds at the convention, I got to see what modern creators, at big companies and small, are doing. In the warehouse, I got to see the foundations laid in the comic industry decades ago. I was surround by bad art and good art, stories of every caliber. The past month and a half presented me with a realm of ideas amazing and humbling in its size.

And in that time, I didn't write anything worth a damn.

How easy it is to get tired and overwhelmed when immense events are going on! And yet, though the con and the warehouse were draining, what got me in the end was not the fatigue, but that same, annoying little voice saying, "You know, you should rest instead of writing. You're so tired, what you write will suck anyway. You should save my energy. You can always write tomorrow."

Ladies and gentlemen, that last thought -- I can always [do whatever I love] tomorrow -- will kill you. Once you give up what you love, you will struggle to get it back. If something's important, make time for it, and it will grow with you.

So my goal is to get my writing back after not doing it for a while. Very good. But what, you may be wondering, does a piano have to do with any of this?

The piano was a promise I made to myself: When I had enough money, I would buy a piano and return to practicing another art I used to love. Well, the warehouse job gave me the money. Playing the piano reduces stress, and it helps the brain I've long worried about getting lazy stay active. Most importantly, though, it's a big, tangible reminder that art, whether writing or music or whatever you like, can be reclaimed if time is made for it regularly.

First up: Chopin's Prelude in A Major, Op. 28 No. 7, and Ted Kooser's 'The Poetry Home Repair Manual.' Gods help the world: I'm about to attempt art.