Righting Myself

My writing has been a bit quiet of late. Last year it was pretty noisy for me — I got a lot done. This year the amount I have to say has dialled down somewhat.

Some things hit my metaphorical windshield, and they put a crack in my vision.

I suppose I am in the process of picking myself up. The way negativity lands usually depends on whether it is echoing some internalised doubt — the kind any artist is prone to stumble over.

When you try to put something out there, not everything you get back is pleasant. My question I have always asked about pretty much everything is, is it worth it? And sure, it is. It is always worth trying to get a communication out there.

Some people don’t like what I do — neither the words, nor the images I create to wrap around those words. Some people demonstrate this by not buying anything, others do it by telling me directly.

I let that whack me. I let it stop me. It’s idiotic. The years I have been doing this, dimes on the rail tracks shouldn’t derail me. But they do. Liking to be liked is an Achille’s Heel that asks to be stabbed. You have to let it bounce off.

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