Then I got on anti-depressants. Then I got a day job. Then that job became full-time. I bought a car. I moved out on my own. I started paying lots of bills. I became a grown-up in the worst sense of the phrase. And I forgot how to be creative.
For the first couple of years, I was nursing along a sequential art project. It started off well, but somewhere along the road I slowed down, and I found myself asking people around me, "Hey, what do you see happening next here? Because I'm just lost." My ideas dried up, and eventually my give-a-damn followed. Despite lots of support from readers, I let the project die alone in a ditch. Occasionally I glanced at it, felt a wave of guilt, and then went back to my hectic daily schedule.
Last year I decided I was going to resurrect it and actually make it my career. I wanted out of my day job, and that was the best way to do it. The only problem was, I still didn't have a story to tell.
In August, Aiden, Shelby and I went on vacation. While chilling on a patio in the middle of nowhere, sipping wine and enjoying our view of a lazy river, we started discussing a new project, a graphic novel that we would all write and I would draw.
I listened with interest and fascination while the two of them spewed ideas almost faster than Shelby could write them down. I had almost nothing to add myself except for technical data. I found myself wondering, How do they come up with these ideas? I was impressed, and mystified.
Over the last few months, I've paid off my debts, restarted the old project, transitioned from full- to part-time work, and moved...and it's coming back. After years on a shelf, my muse is starting to work again. I'm remembering how it works to actually have ideas on my own. I'm tapping back into the creative in me who actually imagines and runs with ideas, instead of cutting them off and returning to busywork.
It's a little intimidating some days. But god, it feels good.
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