a vampire bites a zombie (and vice versa)

"Something deep in the human heart breaks at the thought of a life of mediocrity."
-C.S. Lewis

I've battled with myself for years over my drawing and writing abilities and I can never seem to come to a satisfactory conclusion.  I might draw better than the people around here who can't tell the difference between Picasso and a pickup truck and I might write better than the people around here who can't .

I'm talented for my small town but as far as the world is concerned, I'm mediocre.  And that's on a good day.  I will never change lives.  I will never write an epic or paint a masterpiece.  And because of that, it makes me wonder what the point of any of it is.  I'm not innovative or changing the landscape of art.  If anything, I'm just peddling more average content around that does not stir the heart or stimulate the head.

I realized why that is.  It's because I am not an artist.  I am not a writer.

I'm not talented.  Just tortured.

Now, let me explain.

When I was a child, I drew everything all of the time.  I don't know what attracted me to art, besides the fact that my sister also drew and I admired that and wanted to be like her.  But was she the sole reason or was there another force playing a part in me picking up a pencil?  I'm not sure I'll ever know.  But whatever the cause, I was a tiny artist from the time I could carry a Crayola.

I continued to draw throughout my childhood.  Like most children at that age, I loved cartoons.  And because cartoons were art, I reasoned that I could create my own cartoons.  But I didn't make up my own superheroes or anthropomorphic aliens and animals.  I copied the Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball Z, and Bionic Six characters I saw on the screen (I was into Anime at the time).  I copied my sister's Axl Rose art (she was into hair bands at the time).  I copied pictures from coloring books.  I copied a lot of stuff but never drew anything of my own.  I copied copied copied but never constructed conceived created anything from within myself.

I drew because it relaxed me.  And I received attention for it and that felt nice but I didn't do it for anyone but myself.  In fact, people asked me to draw things for them all the time but I never thought I was good enough.  I liked my stuff but I knew what I could and could not accomplish and never felt I could accomplish what was asked of me.  I always feared I would disappoint them and the only thing I was known for, drawing, would disappear and I would fall into adolescent obscurity.

And when I did accept a request to draw something, I had to make it perfect.  This led to sever anxiety over my work and perfectionism took control of my art.  What once was an enjoyable hobby became a chore.  I could never translate the image from my head to the paper and it angered me.  But by that time, I was in too deep, too known as a good artist.  I even went to college for it.  I even got a degree for it.  I ruined my life pursuing something I wasn't even sure I liked anymore.

And through that frustration, I wrote.  I didn't have friends or family I could turn to so I turned to my journal.  I wrote to vent, to express the things I couldn't say out loud.  Just like with my drawing, I did it for myself.  I eventually started writing online but only because it was much easier to keep up with my head when I typed everything out instead of writing it longhand.  And then I got a little bit of attention for that as well.  And then I found out that I enjoyed it.  And then the insecurity kicked in again because I didn't think of myself as a writer.  I had no training.  I hadn't even been doing it that long.

And really, just like with my drawing, I copied.  I copied down all the thoughts that were already swirling around in my head.  The words, the feelings, the passion and anger and joy and love and hurt were already present within myself and I just had to pluck them out like a stinger in my soul.  But when I tried to create a fictional story, everything fell to pieces.  I could copy my thoughts but couldn't create a character or come up with good ideas for stories.  I kept hearing these writers say they had tons of ideas floating around in their heads, a limitless supply of gray matter gold.  I had nothing.  It wasn't reassuring. 

I kept thinking about it, wondering what my purpose was, wondering if I could actually be good at two things, wondered if I was truly any good at either one of them.  Compared to people I knew at college and online, I saw that I wasn't as good as I wanted to be.  And if I wasn't good or if I couldn't come up with something compelling, then why was I doing it at all?

I realized I did it because I had to, because I could only soothe my mind when I wrote down my thoughts.  Drawing did not soothe me so I retired it.  In fact, I haven't drawn very much at all in the three years since I graduated from college.  Writing has taken over because it's no longer about doing something for the joy of it.  It's about finding something and doing it just to survive.  It's about unloading the bad thoughts before they take over.  If I couldn't write, I would be insane or dead now.

I came to the conclusion that I use art to express myself.  Of course, artists do as well.  All artists express themselves.  I use art as a tool.  But for true artists, they are the tool of art.  It's beyond them.  It makes a difference.  For me, my words don't go beyond my blog.  I have nothing radical to offer.  I am but a small piece of nothing shuffling toward The Great Void just like everyone else and I have no qualms about the fact that I will never turn heads or raise awareness along the way.  I used to have a problem with it but that was before I realized I wasn't a true artist.

I keep seeing and reading these interviews with artists and singers and writers who say they always feel compelled to create.  They say they can't be happy unless they dive into their craft on a daily basis.  They are always coming up with ideas, always stirring up material.  Their art swims through their veins and charges them like a battery to keep going, to keep creating.  They can turn anything into a story or song or picture.

I can't.

Sure, I feel compelled, too, but differently.  Their compulsion is a product of their art.  My art is a product of my compulsion.  

As I said before, I've never been a creative person.  I can't come up with an awesome design for your business card.  I can't pull together a poster for your movie.  I don't have these ideas floating around in my head.  I only have trauma burying itself deep down inside me and I'm constantly trying to dig it up and put it on paper.  For example, I've been working on my book for the past four years.  If I was a real writer, I would have finished it a long time ago along with two others by now, but the truth is, I'm always too tired and lazy.  True writers/artist are dedicated.

I'm not dedicated.  Just desperate.

I still like drawing to some degree.  When I know I can do it leisurely without pressure from my mother to put together a portfolio or without someone offering to pay me to do a portrait of their child, it's fine.  But it's also a slow process.  I think I attached myself to writing because it's a quicker form of therapy.

Art feels limitless and limitless overwhelms me because I don't know where to start.  But words are finite.  There's a certain set of words and yes, the combination of words is limitless as well but the words themselves are all out there on the table for you to pick up and put together like an intricate puzzle.  It feels more defined, more controlled.  I'm all about control.

I'd love to be able to express myself with art but I never have.  I drew before I became crazy and I started writing to combat it when I did become crazy.  I often wondered if I could express myself through art but I don't know where to begin.  What would I do?  What would it look like?

I often wonder what makes a writer.  If you write stories, are you a writer?  If you write in a journal, are you a writer?  If you write a column for your newspaper, are you a writer?  I've been following the blog of Jeff Goins, a writer who helps other writers hone their craft and publish their work.  You should Google him.  He wrote a simple post one day that declared you are a writer when you say you are.  Pretty simple, eh?  So, I'm a writer.  There.  Now I am one.  But, am I really?  I shrug at the idea because I don't feel like one.

I know I'm the one holding me back.  I can say I'm a writer but I lack the conviction.  It's safer to say that I write stuff without coming out and actually saying I'm a writer.  It's the same with being an artist.  Oh, I draw pictures here and there but I'm no professional.  I don't see myself as an artist.  Just a guy who can tap into certain mediums to convey a message or feeling.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.  

Ideally, I'd love to one day have my own animated television show that I wrote myself.   I've always been intrigued by the idea of educating while entertaining.  I think I've learned a lot of life lessons from television and books.  It might sound lame but where else am I going to learn?  From my parents?  From classmates and coworkers?  I think not.  Many of them live under an umbrella of ignorance.  For me, I'd like to be able to set free others who feel as oppressed as I do, let them know they are not alone in their struggle with identity or talent.  I want to be a voice, a representation for those whose lives feel like they've fallen apart.  'Cause I know what it's like.  I live it every day.  And it can be lonely to see other people getting on just fine while you wither away inside yourself.

Is it possible that I can do both?  Can writing and drawing work together in harmony and produce great work or will they ultimately destroy each other?  I keep reading these articles about writing that says to write every day.  You've got to continuously practice practice practice.  Practice does not make perfect but it makes you a heck of a lot better than you were.  And that same principle applies to drawing.  But can I make room for both in my life?  Or should I give up on one to become really good at the other?  And if I do, which one will I choose?  Where is my passion?

It's an old flame vs. a new love.  It's comfort vs. excitement.  It's "I like" vs. "I hope."

I just can't seem to get anything off the ground.  I've been "working" on my book for nearly five years now and I always said I'd like to do my own independent animated YouTube video series.  I have a few ideas but I've never fleshed any of them out.  My mind is constantly spinning while my hands remain idle.  Where is the motivation I need to get going?  Where is the confidence?  Where is the drive, the part of me that was a little boy with big crayons and a bigger imagination?

Can I actually entertain and educate or will the vampire and zombie battle it out in my brain forever?