how i compromised myself with regards to money
i allways have been telling a story about why i stopped drawing and how i would then start witing - having still many idea's about this
but what i could see yesterday, is that it was because of money
i was in fear that if i wasn't good enough, i would never be able to make money out of my drawings
i seemed to believe and take for granted that with my drawings i could make a lot of money, but in order for this to be true i believed i had to be the best - what happened is i met people in my life that proved to me that i wasnt the best, far from it - i started seeing myself as an averge drawer amongst the real talents, and they had it all together: obviously those guys would make money
so when people would start critisizing my drawings (not iteresting/original enough), it wasnt merely a blow to my ego, but also it destroyed my wish an hope that i woud be ale to make money out of my drawings - so i develloped an anger towards art, seeing it as worthless and totally useless
what motivated me to start and continue writing, was people giving me much credit for te stories i wrote - i was at the time reading the one book after the other from a belgian/flemish writer (herman brusselmans), who basically lived from writing his books and would in his autobiographical novels describe his lifestyle, which stirred my imagination tremedously. i wanted the same thing: writing to make money and not needing to have a job, apart from the writing, to sustain me.
so what needed to happen was: one summer i had spend all my days in writing a novel - it wasnt my first 'attempt', but this time i had the entire storyline figured out and i only needed to actually write it - and i already had received 'positive support'on this particular 'novel to be' which hade made me totally believe this time it would be it. this time i would actually publish a book and i would get famous enough to make me money. so what happened was at one point i send the novel to two people (not finished yet) - different people than those who had given me the 'good support' - and they both reacted in disappointment. i felt torn in the core of my being and i abandoned the project. my hope was now defintely dead - i disnt see 'a way out' for a while, as in: how will i now SURVIVE in this world - i resented work, so for me to have to actually take a job was worse than death.
so neither the drawing nor the writing i did for me, so it was interesting that the few tims i actually wrote something cool, it had been from a more innocent (with regards to the money desire) startingpoint, for instance in an email to someone, with not even the intention of keeping or saving what i wrote - interstingly enough i could not repeat this, because of the compromise in my startingpoint: the desire to eventually make money out of everything i wrote
so the soil from which i was attempting to create, was fear - fear that one day i would have no money