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I want to make art. I want to make it for fun. But I also want to make it for a living. I have made plenty of art already. I chased the dream years ago. I went all in on music, it was all encompassing and I found some success, did some things - that when I started - seemed unreachable. But I made mistakes, the product I was pushing was not everything it could have been if I pushed harder and worked smarter. But I was making it up as I went. 

Now and again I feel rushes of inspiration to sell myself to the powers that be but I look at my catalogue and just see flaws. I haven’t made the art that I feel I am capable of. I’m proud of my novels, but they’re flawed. Some people trip over the way I wrote them, making them hard to sell to publishers. My drawing, I have a full unreleased comic book ready to roll - but I can see where it falls short already. 

I stare at my children and feel a little fraudulent. I don’t earn much. Never have. Was always trying to make stuff. And now I’m here, wondering what the next thing is that I can try, the next “product” I can create. A new book? One that learns from the mistakes of the previous two. A new comic book, a new record of music, a children’s book? I feel I owe it to these kids to make something of myself, and the only way I’ve defined that since leaving high school is making art. Glen Hansard busked, was completely broke and slept on people’s couches until his art made him money. I was too “smart” for that. I tried to keep my life together at the same time, and in turn kind of failed at both. I half assed my work and my art.

Now more than ever I need to keep my home life stable and moving forward, but how does an “artist” find success outside of art? I have never returned home from work feeling accomplished, I don’t think any artist does. Accomplishment comes after creating. So I find myself here, standing at the beginning of something, or the end. A friend recently swapped careers, taking huge guts to go from a successful ‘this’ to a starting at bottom of ‘that’. It lit a fire under me, but one that burns weird. I don’t know how to channel it, where to point it. I don’t have those guts. I need to create, but I cannot half ass my work because what little money I make is needed to feed tiny mouths.

So I’m just gonna stand here a bit. At this weird beginning or end place. 

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