The Artist's Way Blurts

This is an exercise to find my blurts. Things from my censor or my inner critic that pop out when I self-affirm myself.

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer. 

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer.

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer.

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer.

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer.

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer.

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer.

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer.

I, John, am a brilliant and prolific writer.

I, John, am a brillinat and prolific writer. 

The next step is to figure out where my blurts come from. That's easy. Ever since I was middle school I was in the wrong. I was always in the wrong. Teachers, friends, parents, everyone even those who loved me, told me I was wrong in some form or other. These blurts usually hit me when I'm at work. When I don't need them. They remind me that I'm not working on my dream which is to be a writer. I have to tell myself that I am a writer who makes a living washing dishes. It's honest work but it doesn't let me cut my teeth on anything writing. Instead of writing for a magazine or writing a book, I'm stuck not practicing my craft. I should write down my "Doh" moments too. It's just like Homer Simpson's moments. Let's think back as far as I can. The origin of my problems starts with me. When I was in middle school and high school, and even now, I found patterns on the floor. It was another way for me to collect stuff except this time it was in my journal. Things I could jot down and collect as much as I wanted. I designed weapons, vehicles, characters, all sorts of ideas came to my head as I looked at the world in the strangest of ways. I remember trying to draw these eraser mark patterns left on the chalk board during Spanish class. Each day I would have a new design which served as a weapon for an armless character. It was incredible way to bring out my imagination. But it also became one of my worst habbits; this distraction during work. I became addicted to this feeling of collecting things to doodle every day and there's this strange thing that happens where you get more done when you're not supposed to be working on something else. Like a distraction becomes more of a draw for you when you work on something that is a distraction. I made up the stories as I went and tried to make these little worlds that would distract me from boring school. That said, I was a hard working student who probably wouldn't have had to work so hard if I paid attention. Over time, I convinced myself that everything I was doing was for my goal; to make video games. In the past I had wanted to be a movie director. I didn't love the camera, but I loved games. The problem is that making a game requires one of two abilities: art or programming. I thought art was my way to tell stories. I eventually came to the conclusion that it wasn't art that would take me there. So that's the first problem, the lie I told myself, the same lie I still cling to and hope that it will come true. It hangs off of me like dead flesh sometimes. An unfulfilled dream that comes with the hopes that I will be able to provide for myself with my own art. It's the artist's dream or delusion. 

The second issue came when I went to College. I thought that this would be my opportunity to take my art in a different direction. Maybe writing was where I belonged. How hard could it be. I took a class and got a C. I think I have a reading comprehension issue sometimes. Every assignment I got I didn't fully understand. It was like I was missing the mark each time and what I didn't learn at the time, was that this is what writing was: rejection. Writing took practice and discipline and instead of trying again, I gave up. Before then, I had lived my life by going with the flow. I didn't understand how life worked so I let my parents and others guide me rather than make my own "incorrect" decisions. The previous "wrongness" that I suffered from in high school might have also contributed to this. I thought that since I wasn't smart enough to figure something out, I should keep my head down and go with the flow. I picked my major to be History instead of writing and I wish I could go back. I love that I took History though, it trained me in how to research and write, but not how to be creative. I don't recall if I ever really grasped the idea that I should apply myself to what I want instead of going to where the flow goes. It's a hard lesson to learn that to get what you want, it won't plop into your lap. It took me many years to learn that. Again, the autism may have affected my maturity. So that's my second strike. Or my second sin.

While writing this I was listening to Ecclesiasties and it got me thinking about life. I think I'll read/listen to the book to make my own decision but it seems like life is chance, at least in some cases. Maybe my therapist will know more but the book seems to say that we need to stop worrying and follow God. That's good, but I spent years not carving my own destiny and I can't stop now. I need to fulfill these desires put in my heart, whether by myself or by God.