I've been writing for years.
I know I've mentioned how I've kept a journal since first grade.
I did numerous writing-related activities, which I always saw as... games.
Mooney and I would write stories-- we'd collaborate. I think it'd be something like two chapters each before handing it over to the other to do her two chapters and so forth, until the story came to some resolution.
This to me, was a game. It was fun.
I did this same activity with one of my best friends in middle school. We'd write a story in a spiral notebook. I think we'd settled on two chapters a turn as well, and the story would end as soon as the notebook ran out of room.
This hobby I never saw as... a career possibility? I don't know, I just grouped it in the same category as basketball-- it killed time, I enjoyed it, but I knew I would never make money off it. I never considered any of my artistic hobbies as being capable of getting me paid.
I've GIVEN away numerous paintings now. It's super strange, and it makes me feel weird to know someone wants something painted/doodled by me... but I oblige. It's my gift to them. A little piece of me... actually, a very intimate piece of me... since I keep my "art" to myself... something about it embarrasses me. I can't really put a finger on it. It's just something incredibly personal to me which leaves me feeling vulnerable. When people find out I paint, I usually just want crawl under a rock.
My photography? I've GIVEN some of my prints away. Actually, I gave one of my little cousins an entire story board. Facebook has also pretty much assassinated this possible "lucrative" prospect. People just see your photos and more than often steal them. I do it... but only with photos that are... umm... well, not of an artistic nature.
HOWEVER, on Friday, I sold my first print! THAT was strange... especially the chosen photo (photo from my Costa Rican travels, where I photographed my breakfast one morning), however, it officially goes down as my first sold art project.
Short stories? Well, that's my next venture. I had been working on my writing since day ONE of this year (for real), but the project has been stalled... which of course bums me out, but I do believe everything happens for a reason. I take set-backs much better now.
I also have a bit of inspiration, due to my middle school friend who is currently shopping around her first book. She wrote this badboy in a matter of about a week... I even make an appearance... as (surprise, surprise) a character named "Teresa." At least it's not "Maria," right?
I like being part of things.
I even gave Kelley the green light to write songs inspired by my F'ed up life. I can't write poetry/songs for shit, so I have given her full liberty-- even encouraging her-- to sing about my woes.
Add me to your stories, sing about me, write poems about me, just don't write my autobiography... I have to be left with some sort of job, right?
Art's lovely.
I know I've mentioned how I've kept a journal since first grade.
I did numerous writing-related activities, which I always saw as... games.
Mooney and I would write stories-- we'd collaborate. I think it'd be something like two chapters each before handing it over to the other to do her two chapters and so forth, until the story came to some resolution.
This to me, was a game. It was fun.
I did this same activity with one of my best friends in middle school. We'd write a story in a spiral notebook. I think we'd settled on two chapters a turn as well, and the story would end as soon as the notebook ran out of room.
This hobby I never saw as... a career possibility? I don't know, I just grouped it in the same category as basketball-- it killed time, I enjoyed it, but I knew I would never make money off it. I never considered any of my artistic hobbies as being capable of getting me paid.
I've GIVEN away numerous paintings now. It's super strange, and it makes me feel weird to know someone wants something painted/doodled by me... but I oblige. It's my gift to them. A little piece of me... actually, a very intimate piece of me... since I keep my "art" to myself... something about it embarrasses me. I can't really put a finger on it. It's just something incredibly personal to me which leaves me feeling vulnerable. When people find out I paint, I usually just want crawl under a rock.
My photography? I've GIVEN some of my prints away. Actually, I gave one of my little cousins an entire story board. Facebook has also pretty much assassinated this possible "lucrative" prospect. People just see your photos and more than often steal them. I do it... but only with photos that are... umm... well, not of an artistic nature.
HOWEVER, on Friday, I sold my first print! THAT was strange... especially the chosen photo (photo from my Costa Rican travels, where I photographed my breakfast one morning), however, it officially goes down as my first sold art project.
Short stories? Well, that's my next venture. I had been working on my writing since day ONE of this year (for real), but the project has been stalled... which of course bums me out, but I do believe everything happens for a reason. I take set-backs much better now.
I also have a bit of inspiration, due to my middle school friend who is currently shopping around her first book. She wrote this badboy in a matter of about a week... I even make an appearance... as (surprise, surprise) a character named "Teresa." At least it's not "Maria," right?
I like being part of things.
I even gave Kelley the green light to write songs inspired by my F'ed up life. I can't write poetry/songs for shit, so I have given her full liberty-- even encouraging her-- to sing about my woes.
Add me to your stories, sing about me, write poems about me, just don't write my autobiography... I have to be left with some sort of job, right?
Art's lovely.
2 comments:
You're an amazing artist with a unique writing voice and you will get your due :) I believe that wholeheartedly.
..I have to write about other people/movies.. other wise you'd hear a bunch of songs about stabbing someone with a pipette.
:) I know I say this a lot, but I really mean it each time: Thank you, Kelley.
I was going to chat with you about this writing venture thing, but I was riding on it working out, THEN surprising you with the good news. hahaha. At least the mistake only cost me 80 bucks. That's a cheap price to pay, I guess.
We really need to pow-wow about all this shit soon! lol
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