I am very lucky - I know many wickedly creative people. Some are artists, some are writers, some are musicians - some are all of those things and more!
I've been struggling with blocks this past year - I haven't been producing art of any kind! But I want to change that. Louise of Sprinkle of Glitter posted a great blog entry today on Creative Courage, and we're going to follow her example!
I've reached out in the past to my artsy pals - saying HEY! This week, let's try something! Pick a topic, and let's make each other get something done! So let's do it together, guys! Creative challenges, comin' at ya!
This week, I challenge you to produce something - anything - in the theme of a television show. Scribble, doodle, sing-le…character, theme song, how it makes you feel, one you love, one you hate - whatever! It can be as in depth or as simple as you're inspired to do - just MAKE SOMETHING and share it with me in the comments below by Sunday night! I'll post the next challenge Monday morning.
Sneaky peaky: I'm going to work on a picture idea I had weeks ago but never went anywhere with - at the very least I'm challenging myself to have a sketch rough for a painting I was inspired to do.
Tips: Don't think too hard, and don't beat yourself up if it doesn't come easily - give yourself a little time over a few days, and try a few different things. The deadline is to make you complete something, no matter how simple - it's not meant to be scary. Face the blank page demons, and GO!
YOU CAN DO IT! Good luck, guys!
<3!
Showing posts with label Creativity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Creativity. Show all posts
Monday, February 24, 2014
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Procrastiwhat?
My creative process, web design edition:
Drink far too much coffee than is humanly good for me, and vibrate around the house muttering song lyrics to myself and twitching to the beat.
Look at Pinterest, because other people are DOING THINGS. Also because you really need a better dog kennel solution. And that scruffy dude looks amazing in GQ, you should repin that. And cake pops. And glitter. And organization, which is actually not bad. You should organize your whole desk.
No, forget it, it's been weeks - why start now.
Drink more coffee.
Check up on a few blogs, because blogging is work. Giggle at bad sex stories.
Check Facebook for the ninth time. Make an inappropriate joke about fairy tale characters, because Once Upon a Time makes no sense. Delete it from your wall.
Make tea, to try to calm down.
Add honey, because screw calming down.
Squint at the screen, realizing you never put your glasses on.
Refuse to put them on.
Think about opening Photoshop.
Google watercolor tattoos instead. That's art.
Twitch some more.
...I'll get there, eventually.
Drink far too much coffee than is humanly good for me, and vibrate around the house muttering song lyrics to myself and twitching to the beat.
Look at Pinterest, because other people are DOING THINGS. Also because you really need a better dog kennel solution. And that scruffy dude looks amazing in GQ, you should repin that. And cake pops. And glitter. And organization, which is actually not bad. You should organize your whole desk.
No, forget it, it's been weeks - why start now.
Drink more coffee.
Check up on a few blogs, because blogging is work. Giggle at bad sex stories.
Check Facebook for the ninth time. Make an inappropriate joke about fairy tale characters, because Once Upon a Time makes no sense. Delete it from your wall.
Make tea, to try to calm down.
Add honey, because screw calming down.
Squint at the screen, realizing you never put your glasses on.
Refuse to put them on.
Think about opening Photoshop.
Google watercolor tattoos instead. That's art.
Twitch some more.
...I'll get there, eventually.
Monday, July 1, 2013
I try to Ace the Cake. GET IT? - Mom's 50th birthday, aka Tardis Cake saga.
Art Saga: Where I take my excess creativity and try, desperately, to do something over the top and ridiculous.
When my mom turned 50 this summer, I wanted to create a surprise. Something MEMORABLE. We'd both fallen in love with Doctor Who, and I thought a Doctor Who cake would be fun. But fancy cakes can be expensive. I thought "Hey! I'm creative! I'll make a simple cake, and paint on it with icing!"
So I'm looking at icing gel colors by Wilton while calling my brother after work, to get his opinion. He decides that, as we watch Iron Chef and used to make things from clay and are therefore creative geniuses, that we should make a 3D cake. Because PAINTING on cake, when I'm not a baker, isn't cool enough. It should be like a groom's cake. Of a Doctor Who tardis.
If you have not seen the show, and why not?, you won't know about the T.A.R.D.I.S. Imagine a British telephone booth. Now make it blue. And turn it into a "police box", a telephone booth where you can call for police assistance. Now make it a time machine. (Time And Relative Dimension In Space). That's what my dear brother wanted me to make.
It's two days before the birthday, and my coffers are light. And I'm not a masochist. So rather than fondant I decided we would decorate it out of icing. And we would use rice crispies instead of cake, as it provides better modeling support. I tried to convey this idea to my engineer brother via text message in line at the store. He thought we were making a complicated layer cake and didn't understand my rice crispy treat blatherings. Apparently, I thought this would made sense to him:
I think this is what I was envisioning:
I told my co-workers days before that it would a) be beautiful OR b) lead to me crying over a bowl of crumbled cereal and icing while my brother ran to Wal-Mart for a pie at 1 in the morning.
So I went to the dollar store for rice crispy treats, a pizza pan, cheap icing, cake mix and spatulas. I got noise makers (which suspiciously make no noise whatsoever), cards and paper crowns. I bought royal icing mix and gel color at a craft store. What follows is the tale of my creation. To those of you who decorate cakes, it will be horrifying. But to "WHY THE HELL NOT?" types like myself- dreamers, if you will, it serves as a tale of triumph and love. And high blood sugar.
I first baked two simple white cakes from box mixes, thinking I would use them as siding and as a base in the pan. One of which our new oven promptly burnt...despite the fact that I left it in for 8 minutes less than asked.
The cakes were poor quality, and shredded to bits. I mashed cake crumbles into the bottom of the pizza pan to construct the ground and stuck it in the freezer to "cool", because clearly the temperature was the only issue that would cause me a problem icing the monstrosity.
I managed to stack the crispies. There were extra. Clearly, I thought, this is a sign that I should make FIGURES as well. In for a penny, in for a WHY IN THE HELL DID NOBODY STOP ME?
So, I cut a hole in the cake "ground" and smashed the tower into the hole (mm, yeah girl, that's what she said). Then I went about painstakingly making "grass" by mixing Wilton gel into a tub of icing with toothpicks until it went from puke green to OH MY GOD, THAT IS SO GREEN! green.
I had tried to paint some blue on their bottoms as pants. This is where I a) should not have done figures or b) have planned better and done fondant and gumpaste or modeling chocolate. But "Eh! I can do it! I can do ANYTHING!" So I globbed icing on cereal Amy with a tiny spatula, creating an obese ghost about to learn they have Type 2 Diabetes while trying not to ruin the Tardis itself.
As you can imagine, the icing was running the entire time. And not "laps during gym" running. More like being chased by Zombies selling Encyclopedias when you just REALLY DON'T NEED ANOTHER BRITTAINICA survival running.
I managed to slather them all with icing, between a spatula and an unused paintbrush from my art box. I also took spoonfuls of the goop and slammed them on saucers, mixing colors on the fly by slapping ever-increasing amounts of gel at the plates in desperation. It was like a painter's palette from sweet, sugary hell.
...I might have hit a wall of despair at this point. But there really wasn't any going back now.
Cue a desperate hour of ridiculousness where I smacked icing all over them, and could get no more photos. I had about two bowls, two cups, 4 spatulas, three paintbrushes and two plates covered in icing. I had two brothers running interference - "GET ME A PAPER TOWEL. WE'RE OUT? GET ME LEMONADE. TO DRINK. SOMEBODY WASH THAT BOWL. OH, GOD. NO. I DON'T NEED ANYTHING - I JUST NEED YOU TO STAY AWAKE". And such great delegating skills are what creates successful creative enterprises, much like Warhol. With slightly fewer peni.
Not really. One went to sleep, and one kept walking away with supplies to watch Bob's Burgers. ("Wait. What am I doing with this, again?") I love H. Jon Benjamin as much as the next girl, but it got ridiculous.
I used the brushes to paint colors on the sloppy ghost people - I use toothpicks right in gel to stab eyes and mouths into their marshmallow-y faces. I tattooed a bowtie on the doctor. Amy's arms fell off at one point, and probably were eaten. It's hazy. So I picked up a toothpick and I started lining everything, to delineate some IDEA of figure in the icing blobs. Clothes outlines. And hair outlines. At which point, one brother popped in to tell me that it was a bad idea. TOO LATE. I COULDN'T STOP. I slapped on little blushing ovals on their chicks from leftover pink icing, because it seemed like there wasn't much I could do at that point to make things any worse and I found it funny.
I had also bought two tubes of icing. The tubes worked along with a long ago purchased cupcake tip set to brilliantly line features and write things on the icing. It went splendidly.
The tubed icing combined with the much-larger-than-I-imagined cupcake tips created a huge mess. But that adds to the charm. I think. I tried to write "TERRI DAY", instead of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY", as I knew I couldn't fit much else without obscuring the whole cake, and it looked suspiciously like "TERRI DAN". The name of her ex-husband. Look, you don't make it to 50 without some painful associations - what do you want me to do. We speckled "flowers" all over the ground, after I dropped a blue brush in the grass - I may have been out of control - and called it quits.
I put the whole shebang into the oven (and it was off, thank God I had that presence of mind) to be safe overnight. Along with half a dollar store cake that Benji iced with the last of the thin icing, so we'd have some cake to eat. We woke up the other brother to sign cards and I "wrapped" gifts in a cute bag. Individually wrapped in grocery bags, as somebody threw away my leftover pink sparkly tissue paper FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN NOTHING GO RIGHT?
And I went to bed. And tried to sleep for a few hours.
In the morning, we called her in and they said happy birthday...etc, etc. I said "SHOULD WE SING?" from the kitchen, discreetly grabbing the monstrosity. She announced that there had to be cake, if it wasn't cake time we couldn't sing because it'd piss her off. Jokingly, but we're pretty serious about cake around here.
...JUST IN CASE YOU COULDN'T TELL, FROM THE ABOVE BOOK OF NONSENSE.
So I said "OH! OK! LET'S SING, THEN!" And I came around the corner of the bar holding THIS:
She said, and I quote: "WHAT. What. Is. That. WHAT. Oh, God. What is going on. What. I. WHhhhhh".
And then the laughing started.
It ended with her on the floor, literally, 20 minutes later. Tears running down her face. She punched me a few times, in the arm. Gagging on her guffaws. Every time she calmed, she'd look up at it from her spot on the floor, make strained bubbling noises and start screaming with laughter all over again.
I was laughing too. I know, it looks pretty ridiculous. But I'm not a baker. I created this after spending my present money, just to have SOMETHING SURPRISING...something MEMORABLE to have a picture with for her 50th that did not scream "50! Oh, My!" and I succeeded. I don't think she has EVER laughed that hard.
Out of joy, of course, for the creative child she birthed and has yet to kill.
With alllllll of that said, I love the wonky little bastard. The story behind it is as brilliant as the thing itself.
We've yet to eat it. I mean, it's not really EDIBLE...but I wouldn't mind an iced crispy right now. I bet it tastes like VICTORY. And tears.
With more planning and not done in one mad burst too late at night and with too few correct tools, I might try it again.
...AHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. Maybe not.
ART SAGA #1: The Tardis Cake.
When my mom turned 50 this summer, I wanted to create a surprise. Something MEMORABLE. We'd both fallen in love with Doctor Who, and I thought a Doctor Who cake would be fun. But fancy cakes can be expensive. I thought "Hey! I'm creative! I'll make a simple cake, and paint on it with icing!"
RIGHT.
So I'm looking at icing gel colors by Wilton while calling my brother after work, to get his opinion. He decides that, as we watch Iron Chef and used to make things from clay and are therefore creative geniuses, that we should make a 3D cake. Because PAINTING on cake, when I'm not a baker, isn't cool enough. It should be like a groom's cake. Of a Doctor Who tardis.
If you have not seen the show, and why not?, you won't know about the T.A.R.D.I.S. Imagine a British telephone booth. Now make it blue. And turn it into a "police box", a telephone booth where you can call for police assistance. Now make it a time machine. (Time And Relative Dimension In Space). That's what my dear brother wanted me to make.
This is a tardis mug, wearing a birthday crown. Silly tardis, you're drunk again.
It's two days before the birthday, and my coffers are light. And I'm not a masochist. So rather than fondant I decided we would decorate it out of icing. And we would use rice crispies instead of cake, as it provides better modeling support. I tried to convey this idea to my engineer brother via text message in line at the store. He thought we were making a complicated layer cake and didn't understand my rice crispy treat blatherings. Apparently, I thought this would made sense to him:
Is it that damn hard to understand cereal construction metaphors? SHALL I DRAW YOU A PICTURE?
I think this is what I was envisioning:
 |
| Mom, the cake, and the adorable Matt Smith trying to stick his tongue in my mouth. What could go wrong? |
I told my co-workers days before that it would a) be beautiful OR b) lead to me crying over a bowl of crumbled cereal and icing while my brother ran to Wal-Mart for a pie at 1 in the morning.
So I went to the dollar store for rice crispy treats, a pizza pan, cheap icing, cake mix and spatulas. I got noise makers (which suspiciously make no noise whatsoever), cards and paper crowns. I bought royal icing mix and gel color at a craft store. What follows is the tale of my creation. To those of you who decorate cakes, it will be horrifying. But to "WHY THE HELL NOT?" types like myself- dreamers, if you will, it serves as a tale of triumph and love. And high blood sugar.
I first baked two simple white cakes from box mixes, thinking I would use them as siding and as a base in the pan. One of which our new oven promptly burnt...despite the fact that I left it in for 8 minutes less than asked.
The cakes were poor quality, and shredded to bits. I mashed cake crumbles into the bottom of the pizza pan to construct the ground and stuck it in the freezer to "cool", because clearly the temperature was the only issue that would cause me a problem icing the monstrosity.
Yeaaaah.
I managed to stack the crispies. There were extra. Clearly, I thought, this is a sign that I should make FIGURES as well. In for a penny, in for a WHY IN THE HELL DID NOBODY STOP ME?
So, I cut a hole in the cake "ground" and smashed the tower into the hole (mm, yeah girl, that's what she said). Then I went about painstakingly making "grass" by mixing Wilton gel into a tub of icing with toothpicks until it went from puke green to OH MY GOD, THAT IS SO GREEN! green.
Let's not talk about how painful it was to ice what was essentially moist crumbs that I smashed down with my hands - SANITARY!
At this point, I felt a bit hopeful. I may have had a mild sugar high from ingesting too much gel-happy icing. You can see the start of the lumpy, impromptu figures in the background on the plate...run through with their skewers of cake-affixing doom.
I mixed a pretty blue, spread it over the rice crispy tower in a zen-like trance, and tried to jab the skewered figures into the quarter-inch cake grass. Which did not work. I ended up having to stick them against the wet tardis, and prop them up with broken toothpicks at a 45 degree angle - covering the base with more smashed crispy to get them to stay.
At THIS point, I started to feel like I was in a little over my head. L-R: Rory, The Doctor (11th), Amy.
I had tried to paint some blue on their bottoms as pants. This is where I a) should not have done figures or b) have planned better and done fondant and gumpaste or modeling chocolate. But "Eh! I can do it! I can do ANYTHING!" So I globbed icing on cereal Amy with a tiny spatula, creating an obese ghost about to learn they have Type 2 Diabetes while trying not to ruin the Tardis itself.
As you can imagine, the icing was running the entire time. And not "laps during gym" running. More like being chased by Zombies selling Encyclopedias when you just REALLY DON'T NEED ANOTHER BRITTAINICA survival running.
I managed to slather them all with icing, between a spatula and an unused paintbrush from my art box. I also took spoonfuls of the goop and slammed them on saucers, mixing colors on the fly by slapping ever-increasing amounts of gel at the plates in desperation. It was like a painter's palette from sweet, sugary hell.
...I might have hit a wall of despair at this point. But there really wasn't any going back now.
The "I still have so far to go before I sleep" face. Where I'm crying. From in-too-long contact burniness, not yet from emotional pain. That's later!
Cue a desperate hour of ridiculousness where I smacked icing all over them, and could get no more photos. I had about two bowls, two cups, 4 spatulas, three paintbrushes and two plates covered in icing. I had two brothers running interference - "GET ME A PAPER TOWEL. WE'RE OUT? GET ME LEMONADE. TO DRINK. SOMEBODY WASH THAT BOWL. OH, GOD. NO. I DON'T NEED ANYTHING - I JUST NEED YOU TO STAY AWAKE". And such great delegating skills are what creates successful creative enterprises, much like Warhol. With slightly fewer peni.
Not really. One went to sleep, and one kept walking away with supplies to watch Bob's Burgers. ("Wait. What am I doing with this, again?") I love H. Jon Benjamin as much as the next girl, but it got ridiculous.
I used the brushes to paint colors on the sloppy ghost people - I use toothpicks right in gel to stab eyes and mouths into their marshmallow-y faces. I tattooed a bowtie on the doctor. Amy's arms fell off at one point, and probably were eaten. It's hazy. So I picked up a toothpick and I started lining everything, to delineate some IDEA of figure in the icing blobs. Clothes outlines. And hair outlines. At which point, one brother popped in to tell me that it was a bad idea. TOO LATE. I COULDN'T STOP. I slapped on little blushing ovals on their chicks from leftover pink icing, because it seemed like there wasn't much I could do at that point to make things any worse and I found it funny.
I had also bought two tubes of icing. The tubes worked along with a long ago purchased cupcake tip set to brilliantly line features and write things on the icing. It went splendidly.
LIES.
The tubed icing combined with the much-larger-than-I-imagined cupcake tips created a huge mess. But that adds to the charm. I think. I tried to write "TERRI DAY", instead of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY", as I knew I couldn't fit much else without obscuring the whole cake, and it looked suspiciously like "TERRI DAN". The name of her ex-husband. Look, you don't make it to 50 without some painful associations - what do you want me to do. We speckled "flowers" all over the ground, after I dropped a blue brush in the grass - I may have been out of control - and called it quits.
I put the whole shebang into the oven (and it was off, thank God I had that presence of mind) to be safe overnight. Along with half a dollar store cake that Benji iced with the last of the thin icing, so we'd have some cake to eat. We woke up the other brother to sign cards and I "wrapped" gifts in a cute bag. Individually wrapped in grocery bags, as somebody threw away my leftover pink sparkly tissue paper FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN NOTHING GO RIGHT?
And I went to bed. And tried to sleep for a few hours.
In the morning, we called her in and they said happy birthday...etc, etc. I said "SHOULD WE SING?" from the kitchen, discreetly grabbing the monstrosity. She announced that there had to be cake, if it wasn't cake time we couldn't sing because it'd piss her off. Jokingly, but we're pretty serious about cake around here.
...JUST IN CASE YOU COULDN'T TELL, FROM THE ABOVE BOOK OF NONSENSE.
So I said "OH! OK! LET'S SING, THEN!" And I came around the corner of the bar holding THIS:
Yet another Frankenstein labor of love success by yours truly. BE JEALOUS.
She said, and I quote: "WHAT. What. Is. That. WHAT. Oh, God. What is going on. What. I. WHhhhhh".
And then the laughing started.
It ended with her on the floor, literally, 20 minutes later. Tears running down her face. She punched me a few times, in the arm. Gagging on her guffaws. Every time she calmed, she'd look up at it from her spot on the floor, make strained bubbling noises and start screaming with laughter all over again.
I was laughing too. I know, it looks pretty ridiculous. But I'm not a baker. I created this after spending my present money, just to have SOMETHING SURPRISING...something MEMORABLE to have a picture with for her 50th that did not scream "50! Oh, My!" and I succeeded. I don't think she has EVER laughed that hard.
Out of joy, of course, for the creative child she birthed and has yet to kill.
With alllllll of that said, I love the wonky little bastard. The story behind it is as brilliant as the thing itself.
Amy looks like a fat mess, but Rory is the absolute star. I love his little 'spression.
We've yet to eat it. I mean, it's not really EDIBLE...but I wouldn't mind an iced crispy right now. I bet it tastes like VICTORY. And tears.
With more planning and not done in one mad burst too late at night and with too few correct tools, I might try it again.
...AHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. Maybe not.
Friday, June 14, 2013
A blog, seriously?
Why Sparkly, you might ask. Maybe I was in the mood for something
bright, to name this after something that could catch attention or keep
me attracted and invested. Something a bit unexpected, something to
shake us from the usual ruts and petty patterns of the everyday.
Something different, a little exciting and bright and wild - like I'd
like to be.
Did you know? Life is always beautiful. And miraculous. It just doesn't always feel that way. Which is such a stupid thing to even type, for someone like me - someone with a roof, clothes, food. Someone with love, for God's sake. But despite the good, things can get very murky sometimes. From things dredged up from the past. From chemicals confusing our poor tired hearts. Sometimes, from no real reason at all. And we slowly get trapped in a terribly great pit of self-loathing and smallness, right inside our own little heads.
How do you clean the lens?
Sometimes, I get the blues. They can be pretty navy. It's hard to explain. There's not always a particular reason. But I get despondent, and gray (blue and gray, work with me, I'm a colorful one), and immobile. I don't really want to see or speak to anyone, and I don't like myself very much. I walk a fine-line, it seems, between this innate sense of brilliance with great optimism and hope for a wonderful future andddddd on the other side a very strong sense of what seems to be well deserved self-loathing. Because I'm interesting, dammit. Or maybe not. Oh, God, my poor human-sized brain that's so bad at math and yet so good at remembering facts about Doctor Who.
But I keep trying to make small stands on getting myself back: starting a painting. Organizing old writings that might go somewhere one day. Working on some freelance pieces for a few extra dollars, for another post-grad job under my belt. A few days at a time, I'll have a spark. And then it's dead. Most things are never finished. And I just resign myself to being this mediocre disgusting creature that let all of its passions fall behind.
Guys. Something that is so important to remember, when you're in this little spiral of disgust and frustration and NOTHINGNESS, is to not let yourself fade.
When you get gripped by the very uninspired and unnecessary clouds in your own brain, fight back. Even if it's something as incredibly small as writing little internet letters and creating silly, stupid, wild (and lovely) random acts of art - whatever your art may be - for no other reason than you still can. Do it. For the love of all that is good smelling and lickable in this world, DO SOMETHING.
"Write it. Shoot it. Publish it. Crochet it, sauté it, whatever. MAKE."
-Joss Whedon
Hop up and down, dance your stiff limbs free. Scream if you can't stand. Sing. Drum, shake, growl. Let the world know you will not lie down and be still, simply because it's convenient to whatever mold you've badly jammed yourself in. Never again listen to the people who make what you want to do seem unimportant, because it's silly or you're not good enough or because it's 'no way to make a living'.
This? This isn't really a way to make a living, either.
Which is EXACTLY the reason why it had to happen.
Make something, make anything. Now. And make YOU.
Did you know? Life is always beautiful. And miraculous. It just doesn't always feel that way. Which is such a stupid thing to even type, for someone like me - someone with a roof, clothes, food. Someone with love, for God's sake. But despite the good, things can get very murky sometimes. From things dredged up from the past. From chemicals confusing our poor tired hearts. Sometimes, from no real reason at all. And we slowly get trapped in a terribly great pit of self-loathing and smallness, right inside our own little heads.
How do you clean the lens?
Sometimes, I get the blues. They can be pretty navy. It's hard to explain. There's not always a particular reason. But I get despondent, and gray (blue and gray, work with me, I'm a colorful one), and immobile. I don't really want to see or speak to anyone, and I don't like myself very much. I walk a fine-line, it seems, between this innate sense of brilliance with great optimism and hope for a wonderful future andddddd on the other side a very strong sense of what seems to be well deserved self-loathing. Because I'm interesting, dammit. Or maybe not. Oh, God, my poor human-sized brain that's so bad at math and yet so good at remembering facts about Doctor Who.
But I keep trying to make small stands on getting myself back: starting a painting. Organizing old writings that might go somewhere one day. Working on some freelance pieces for a few extra dollars, for another post-grad job under my belt. A few days at a time, I'll have a spark. And then it's dead. Most things are never finished. And I just resign myself to being this mediocre disgusting creature that let all of its passions fall behind.
Guys. Something that is so important to remember, when you're in this little spiral of disgust and frustration and NOTHINGNESS, is to not let yourself fade.
When you get gripped by the very uninspired and unnecessary clouds in your own brain, fight back. Even if it's something as incredibly small as writing little internet letters and creating silly, stupid, wild (and lovely) random acts of art - whatever your art may be - for no other reason than you still can. Do it. For the love of all that is good smelling and lickable in this world, DO SOMETHING.
"Write it. Shoot it. Publish it. Crochet it, sauté it, whatever. MAKE."
-Joss Whedon
Hop up and down, dance your stiff limbs free. Scream if you can't stand. Sing. Drum, shake, growl. Let the world know you will not lie down and be still, simply because it's convenient to whatever mold you've badly jammed yourself in. Never again listen to the people who make what you want to do seem unimportant, because it's silly or you're not good enough or because it's 'no way to make a living'.
This? This isn't really a way to make a living, either.
Which is EXACTLY the reason why it had to happen.
Make something, make anything. Now. And make YOU.
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