going to writers conferences can be like porn for me. full of excitement, fascination, addiction. i'm drawn to almost any talk around me. i'm revved up to write and soak in everything from all of my senses.
but also hearing the writers, their processes, and the method can purely shock me. i begin to question every word that i write and have written, and lose the gusto i just built up. i am inspired to read but no longer write.
i sit in amazement of those who have achieved this path, and realize how accomplished they must feel.
getting your doctorate and an accompanying job, it has it's difficulties. but it's pretty much guaranteed if you put in the hours, your paycheck will follow, and be expected.
writing and the arts, no matter what your skill, or the years you've put in, it doesn't equate with the payoff. and that is where my gratitude and appreciation for artists prevail, in the courage to try.
the courage to go for it, regardless of the fact only critique may soon.
that is the heart of a passionate artist vs. a rational normal.
is there a balance?
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