I’ve always been a person who fights with ideas, wrestling them into submission in order to make them work. The words are no different. I fight with them while they swim around in my head, and make them come out, and place themselves on the paper in front of me. Something always feels like it’s in the way, and it drives me just a little bit crazier than I was before. I’ve committed a little over eight thousand words on paper, and it just doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t feel good enough, it never does.
The art tortures people, brings out their best and their worst qualities, and what comes out is just never good enough in the eyes of its creator. This is what we suffer with. The struggle, the journey, the fight is all part of the process. Everyone is an artist, but it requires a disciplined mind, something that I am slowly developing while creating what I will always consider my masterpiece. You have to write, but that fight is the easy part. The challenge is finishing what you start. That is where it can all go horribly wrong. It takes strength to hand the world something that you don’t think is perfect, and it takes power to withstand the criticisms and complaints about your work. It is a piece of your soul, like a child, and you want to see it succeed, not for money, not for fame, but for the fact that what you write makes someone, somewhere feel something.