<Creative/CONtrol

I feel as though something every creative person struggles with from time to time is the concept of doing it for themselves or doing it for them. The “Them” I am referring to is the clients/employers/general population. It can be easy to get caught up in the idea of producing art or otherwise creating things for a paycheck. I mean isn’t that the dream? Being able to do what you love and being financially secure from it? At the same time though, can’t that be torturous if you wind up doing something thats only a fraction of the craft you love? Something thats diluted and watered down by the interjections of an institution of some kind? I myself do freelance writing and while I do enjoy aspects of it, I find that it takes away from the time I used to have to create in the way that I love to.

With that being said, I’m not complaining, only stating that in those situations you need to make sure you find a little bit of time to do what you truly love and balance your passion with the paycheck.

Heres my effort to do that exact thing.

I present to you Chapter one of “A Bastard’s Last Dance”.

The liquid that filled my mouth was thick and tasted of metal. My jaw was clenched tight as another fist swung into and connected with the right side of my chin. The blood I had been holding onto fled the vessel of my mouth with vigour as I fell. I landed on my left side supported by my hands and knees, the blood slowly dripping from my now open mouth. I had no words for the man standing behind me though he had plenty for me. I wasn’t altogether sure anymore why I was here on the ground. Not to say that I didn’t think I deserved to be but to say that I thought I had more fight in me. While assessing my beliefs in my combat abilities I felt the business end of a steel toe boot connect with the left side of my ribs. I am ashamed to say this is when I first cried out in pain. It wasn’t the two punches to the stomach or the two to the jaw. It wasn’t even collapsing on hands and knees in an abandoned warehouse where not one of my friends could find me. It was feeling the tip of that boot connect with my ribs and hearing the loud crack that went along with it. To clarify the audible I must confess that it wasn’t my ribs that cracked, though I imagine there are fractures. No, it was what I had placed in the inner pocket of my jacket that emitted the distressing sound that caused my outcry. The item to which I was affectionately attached had initially belonged to my father. It was his favourite watch that he had left me. The last object besides the DNA within me that connected us. I knew that the destruction of a material item such as a watch could never sever the bond or dissolve the memories I had of him. Though it was the principle of the item that I had wished to remain intact. As I rolled onto my back with the pain in my ribs pulsing through my torso I clutched my jacket where the now broken watch resided. It was neither the item or my possession of it that brought me to this low of a place both literally and metaphorically. It was something else entirely that can neither be truly possessed or otherwise owned. The man was pacing around me saying words that I both understood and didn’t agree with. He made claims of trespassing and theft though to which he referred could as I mentioned, be neither owned or possessed. As I lay in pain on the ground surrounded only by emptiness and the words of my villain, I managed to retrieve the pack of cigarettes i held in my right side pocket. He didn’t seem to care as I flipped open the lid and produced what was now a half sized cigarette presumably damaged in the struggle. I lit my small but equally as appreciated saving grace and took my first drag. I was overwhelmed with an awesome wave of calm as it soothed my aches. Intent on savouring my chemical bliss I let the smoke drift slowly through my lips as I noticed his ranting had stopped. Drawing my eyes back to his presence he stood now several feet away. All was as I’d left it save for the knife now clutched tightly in his grip.

“Well alright then”

I mumbled softly. My eyes floated back to the smoke still escaping into the world. I took another long drag, this time enjoying it more as my last. As he took another step towards me the plume of smoke I exhaled reminded me of a rose. A beautiful and elegant rose, like the very flower that got me into this mess. I closed my eyes to his advancing and basked in the memory. The warmth filled me as a pot of hot water and I floated away silently. Drifting away just me and my flower.

Advertisements

All That Gold

I think that one of the most precious resources we have in this world is art. I mean, how many times do you find yourself turning to art? I myself can come up with a lengthy list. I mean who can’t? With that being said, I choose to look at art as something even more precious than gold. The only difference really being that you can create it in your basement, your spare room, your friends living room and even in no room at all.

I worry that people are becoming too easily dissuaded from creating. There is such a huge amount of art circulating out there that one might find it daunting to even think about creating something and putting it out into the crowded sea of everyone else’ work. Which I understand completely. I’m pretty afraid of it too. I mean, here I sit having just finished writing my first novel, and I have no idea what to do next. It’s worse then that though, I haven’t even told that many people. Which maybe is a good thing? I don’t know.

What I do know, is that you can’t stop creating. You have to keep going and keep doing it. Treat it like the drug you cant live without, or the support structure you rely on. No matter what just do it. Thats the one thing I’ve become absolutely certain of. Will I ever become a successful author, a famous actor, or anything related to the art world? I hope so. Should the countless possible end results affect my present dedication to my passions?

Absolutely not.

I mean what do i really know though right? This is just what works for me. Find your own thing, stick to it, love it, and live it. Please. For you.

Forward Motion

I find that when you sink your teeth into something that you’re genuinely passionate about, it becomes almost an entity in itself. That is to say that you breathe enough life into something it becomes practically self sustaining. Then you take on the role of caretaker to make sure it can keep functioning in the way you designed it. So it can continue to serve its purpose. The purpose you created it for, whether that be to inspire people or to entertain people, and you get to enjoy it yourself.

That is what my intention is here. I want to put in enough work and enough effort, so that you may find yourself inspired or at the very least entertained. I can’t even put into words how much entertainment and inspiration I myself have gotten from this world. I feel it is only my duty to try and contribute what I can of that same essence into the world. Without Art I truly don’t think there would be much love in this world. Not in the way that you hear a song and can recall your childhood, or see a painting and think of your lover, or to read a book and be transported to a whole new world. 

I think there would be a lot less intrigue as well. Less inclination to give any more of yourself than what was minimally required. So with that, I am here to say, I am giving more of myself than is required. To bring you The Gathering. I am giving it my all, and my everything, and I can’t wait to share it with you. The book itself should be completed this weekend. Then I will edit, and then I will perfect. Once all that is finished, it will be yours to consume, and mine to be proud of. 

Until then; stay inspired and love all kinds of art. Oh, and be weird. It gives others the permission they don’t give themselves to actually express what’s inside. At least it does for me, so maybe I’m just crazy.

Depart From Me

For tonight I thought I could share something a little different with you guys. As I sit here writing out chapter 4 of The Gathering. I found myself distracted going through and deleting a lot of old Instagram posts, from before I even knew how to use it correctly (I still don’t use it correctly). While I was doing this however I came across a poem I wrote back in July of 2013 that I really liked. I re-read it now and still like it, so I figure that means it might actually be of quality. With that being said I hope you guys like it, and maybe find some inspirations from it.

Here goes.

Depart From Me
Like lines you cross, 
Like vines across.
Tangled and unmentionable 
Shielded from the day, 
A sign to many
Which means to say
I never planned to stay.