I remember a friend of mine telling me how they’d spend hours just staring in frustration at the blank canvas in front of them, tears of impotent rage running down their cheeks.
For years I never understood the sheer depth of that struggle – now that I write, now that I watch the cursor blinking for hour after hour in the same spot, now I get it!
Now I too know that struggle to create, not just to mark the canvas with splashes of paint, but to leave something that is truly mine, something that is a near perfect reflection of my imagination.
And, just like the artist, brush in hand, I too stand before my canvas sheet fearful that I may not get it right, that my colours will be too bland, too bright, too messy…
But if I don’t dab the paint, dawb some colour, who will ever know that my creation is indeed a horse captured in abstract majestic splendour?
And therein we add a further layer, an additional nuance to our struggle to paint – what if our art becomes Dorian Gray, discarded in an attic never to viewed?
Our imperfections, our flawed creations need to see the light of day – they need to be viewed.
And like clockwork our theme returns to the ever so predictable beginning of so very many of my musings – the near primal need to be published!
I have written.
I have created my tales.
But they are not read…
I can stand back from my canvas (like many do) and spot where the colour has accidently bled from one stroke into another, where the detail isn’t as sharp as it could be – but it is unmistakably a horse, my horse.
A horse not by another name, but a horse clear and obvious.
I have listened to the critics how say how this art should be approached, and often, how it most certainly should not be done.
And of the latter wisdom in abundance abounds!
A tale should NOT be long.
NEVER create a series without selling book one.
It should NOT cross genres.
A man CANNOT write from the POV of a woman.
NEVER be different…
NEVER stray out of your lane…
These rules they say are proven maxims, sacred edicts beyond debate – KNOW your place little writer!
Maybe I should know my place…
Maybe I shouldn’t.