Editing.

fucking.

sucks.

I love, love, love, love writing. 

LOVE IT. I am at the heart of me – a storyteller. Point blank. People have always identified me as an artist (which is true!)  because that’s the obvious answer :  She likes to draw, she likes to create, she’s an artist!

But that’s not the truth.  I do draw, and create. And I’m pretty damn good at it, and I rather enjoy it…..but that is means to an end. I draw, because it’s an easy, straight forward way to convey what’s in my head. 

I tried freelancing, and I wanted to shoot myself in the foot. Or stab that damn pencil right through my eye. Or hand….because at least that meant I had a legit reason to NOT do this horrid ass piece that I utterly hate…..oh, no, wait. I’ve already been paid….and that money already spent. so there IS NO BACKING OUT, 

It was a prison. A horrible, bleak, tormenting prison full of horrid ideology and bad taste…..I kept on thinking to myself : shouldn’t this be the ultimate dream?  Getting *paid* to do what you love ? Making a living (sorta) doing art?? Then it turned into guilt because If I was a *real* artist, shouldn’t I love doing art no matter what??

And maybe for many people that’s true, and for many other legit artists it’s not true, and everything in between. But those questions made me stop and think. And then I realized :  No. I’m not an artist.  I’m a storyteller. 

It didn’t matter WHAT on earth I was writing about, I could get lost in it. I could get stuck in it. I could research for hours, and just clack away for hours and lose track of time completely, and come out with something in the end that was compelling, and impressive, and made people think, and made me shine and gleam and giddy with pride. 

It didn’t matter WHAT it was. I loved it. I loved it. I loved it….

*that* is what I could do, no matter what, and be happy. That is what made me so happy about my art : it was *my* art. I loved drawing for *me* not for other people, because what I drew was still a story – it was just a visual story. It was still compelling, and emotional, they were characters – they were worlds – they were artifacts and relics of a vision of a feeling of a time, and they drew a breath and life of their own…..because they were a story.  Someone’s disgusting idea for a logo is not a story. It could be. But it never was, because clients are retarded horrible things that have no idea what they want, except for the fact that it will be uninspired, uncreative, wretched bad taste and chock full of cliche and cliche after cliche. Which is hard to turn it into a story. Even though it *should* be a story : it should be their story, of their venture. But…nope….

That’s what killed it. And then I realized – I could never, ever, do that…ever again.  That was the wrong plan. That was the wrong goal. That’s why I was so miserable, that’s why I could never make any money, because I avoided commissions like the plague. I would never search them out – I would wait for them to come to me. Which was enough to scrape by….but I wasn’t *active* in that path. I just sat and waited, and cringed when something came along, and trudged through it just because I knew we had bills to pay.

That is horrid. That is miserable. Don’t ever – EVER do that!

So I stopped, and I started focussing 100% back on my writing again…….which I had taken a long break from to try to ‘pay the bills’ just making myself miserable. I quit my job. Got a new, regular “day job” with regular hours, and regular pay – nothing thrilling or exciting, but nothing horrible or miserable. I like it, I enjoy it, I have freedom with it. Which meant I could focus on *my* stuff too, and still have time with the family. Things moved along slowly, but surely – as they still are now. And life. is. so. happy.

I bitch a lot. I complain a lot. I’m a rambler, and a venter, and a ….well, a story teller! So I have a lot of nothing to say – a lot. All the time. 

But truth be told : life is fucking awesome. I am lucky. I haven’t hit it big, so to speak, but that’s alright. I’m making it – *and* i get to do what i love, and if I just keep at then, then I know I will ‘hit it big’ whatever my big may be, and it’ll all be worth it.

And that’s the beautiful dream, the awesome inspirational soul searching that everyone hopes for when they pack up and move out to the big city, or graduate college, or whatever your milestone is. 

…..but they don’t tell you about fucking editing.

Sure, they do. But not what you think. I mean, of course – everyone *knows* you that editing and revisions come with the job. That’s par for the course…..but no one actually tells you: You’re gonna wanna shoot yourself in the foot. Or stab yourself in the eye. Or the hand, because then you’d have a legit excuse as to why you cant type. Oh, no but wait! They have that stupid Dragon program now, so you don’t have a reason to need your hand….

So much procrastination. So much lack of motivation, but it’s absolutely horrible. But, strangely – even though it’s all the exact same things I hated about freelance arting…..my soul isn’t dying every time I do it. It’s a different type of hate, it’s a different type of misery. It’s turned into from just pure torture, to a labor of love.

But god damn it. I fucking hate it. I get so excited about my story – I get so thrilled, and giddy like a lil child when Things develop a certain way that I didn’t necessarily see coming – it just all fell into place. Its unbelievable when that happens! And the world is awesome, and life is awesome and everything is Awesome!!!

……oh. No. Wait……..i don’t get to continue on just yet, because I have to get through THIS shit first.

uuuuhhhhhhgggggggggg.

Or maybe I’d like to draw and illustration to the book today, omg, that scene when this happened would be so epic!

….oh. No. Wait…….I can’t do that, because I have to finish THIS shit before I take a break.

uuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhggggggggggggggggg.

Plus, throw in there the fact that 1 – I’m dyslexic and 2 – cant spell for shit. I don’t even know if I’m doing it right! wtf is that word? What did I mean to say there? Do I even know how to spell that? I don’t know how to spell that…..but it’s so wrong that Google doesn’t even have a suggestion. Wtf is that? What did I do ??

And that’s just one line. Also, because I’m lucky to type really…..really….fast. My dyslexic brain can’t keep up, so sometimes I skip entire sentences….entire lines….sometimes whole thoughts in paragraphs because everything gets jumbled and my brain literally cant keep up with my hands so it just skips forward to where it thinks it needs to be. And that also means on the other hand, my hands type so fucking fast that they just basically transcribe every second of random thought that flies through my brain. So sometimes I just jump off on a tangent somewhere, and I have no idea what point I was trying to get across because I just…skipped past it onto a totally different thought.

what??

What is that? where did it come from?

Where did that other thing go?  Oh, no clue? Me neither…

And I pretty much have to start that all over because I don’t even know what I was trying to do there. And then I get confused, and then I lose my mojo, and then I get un-excited, and then I end up wanting netflix instead of this crap, and then I end up procrastinating this crap while thinking very hard about that movie I’ve been waiting to watch for three weeks, and then I have to go pee, and then when  I come back I decide it’s an awesome time for a snack, and then I need something to veg too while I snack, so then I turn on the tv and 

HOLY FUCK. I’m late picking up Sky.

Where’d the day go ??

and then there goes all my productivity time for the day….and then my brain just kind goes

“….meh…” *shrugs*  because I didn’t *really* wanna do that anyway, so no biggie.

But then later when you open up your file and realize that nothing has changed in 2 weeks, you hate yourself. You utterly hate yourself, 

I’m such a lazy bitch, what the fuck am I doing with my life, nothing will ever happen if I don’t make it happen – beat yourself up, bully-coach break down motivational crap, get psyched up, I’m gonna do this – no matter what, I’m just gonna tough it out and do it! 

*open up file* 

……..uuuhhhhhhhhhhgggggg.

Ooo. There’s a House marathon on….

PS. I’m very excited that ‘i hate editing’ is such a popular tag, that all I had to type in was ‘i h’. 

Yes.