I've gotta make this post, and only after some hesitance did I decide it wouldn't be completely private. I'm taking a risk and possibly sounding like an ungrateful twit dependent on validation from others.
In the strictly creative sense, I'm a very lucky person. I always like to work on things, I never stop a project because of lack of feedback because the concept and the characters mean too much to me, and, even if it takes me a while, I can get a lot done. I'm persistent throughout years. Things don't fall out of fashion with me. I love and am loyal to everything I do. Didn't say that to sound like a perfect writer with a one-up on everyone, because I'm about to avalanche with angst.
The sad thing is that I'm always coveting followers. I feel extremely isolated and very little of what I do brings me closer to other people. You know, I feel like a failure. If one tries this hard to bring their art to others and it doesn't work, how can you tell them not to worry about it and assure them that they're really doing anything worthwhile? What if it means something that they can't inspire even their friends to check out their work and give them some support? What can it mean? Are there other meanings besides that your work is just subpar and you don't even know it? Well meaning as some of my friends are, they can't say more than "it's just bad luck," "it's just temporary."
I don't buy it.
I think there's a problem with me. I'm worried that I have the wrong idea about the quality of my work and that I only see it how I do because it's mine and it's all I have. I'm worried I'm unable to see it in the larger picture as something that is really not standing out or seeming clever. I'm worried all along I'm mediocre, maybe even plain juvenile and cliche.
In 2008, Kate and I launched Crystal Palace 3. Three friends left us comments for the first few parts, and a couple others gave us empty adds to their watches to pretend they cared. We haven't gotten a comment there in terms of readership since 2009, despite what a whore I was on every single site I could possibly think of. I was pouring CP3 illustrations out of my ass in 2010, linking a new site on DA, linking on FB, linking on my own journal and this journal, I made a FB page last year, and in all that time, those three friends from 2008-2009 have been the only ones to ever comment. I know one person on DA who's read it all, it's not that I'm ungrateful for individual people who've helped me feel better when I'm down, but that's still not success. That is flat-out failure. I don't know what to do anymore. CP2 was similarly ignored, and nobody even realizes we started CP4. I don't plan to give it up, but a definite contributing factor to it being written at a snail's pace is that nobody fucking cares. My own friends don't even want to read not only mine but Kate's work, which is supposed to be something that brings us together.
When I was in high school, when I was creative, it did bring people together. My shitty line-paper comic The Adventures of Akira and Jennifer was something our friends always wanted updates on. We'd read it during lunch and laugh about it. To me, that's what a story is all about. You need to be persistent and love what you're doing enough to do it in any case, but everything I've made was meant to be a social experience. Stories are social. They're a connection between creator and viewer, meant for them to communicate with each other, and I honestly feel like in most situations I'm screaming to the universe about who I am and what I think is important and no one's listening. It's like I'm in space.
I'm too isolated in person. I spend every day by myself, only thriving because of my creativity. Before it I was miserable, and without it, so I would be again. Stories are how I feel I have company. It's kind of wearing off, though, and I don't feel like I have company anymore. I feel completely and utterly alone and talentless, and I have to watch other people get what I don't have when it seems like they aren't doing anything differently.
The Crystal Palace series, despite all that work -- ignored.
Unknown Color -- failure.
The Staircase -- failure.
Tilly & Jo -- utter failure.
You know why people read He's There? Because they think it's Phantom of the Opera fanfiction and it gives them nearly the same amount of fan-service. I know that's why it had readership. It's been my only taste of attention, but I'm aware that it isn't altogether original work, and I'm being rewarded because of it, because people do not like original work very much or give it a chance. Unless, of course, it's blow-your-socks-off genius. I know that's not what my work is.
Without a crutch from an existing fandom, I am fucked.
This has been going on for about 6 years. How is it a phase? How can somebody look me in the eye and tell me things won't be like this in the future and that some day the whole world will be hit by a meteor that is my "genius"? As well-meaning as it is, I get angry when people say stuff like this because it seems to lack empathy for me -- they are not attempting to imagine what my experience has felt like and actually think that saying shit like this will make me feel better. You must be tripping. I'm supposed to believe that "just nobody notices yet how awesome I am". I don't even think I'm awesome! Is it healthy to feel you're awesome? The whole thing crumbles instantaneously! There's no way for a sane person to believe that. Everyone wants to turn towards the future with annoying optimism instead of looking critically towards the past. What. Does. It. Mean. That. I'm. So. Alone?!
That's why I'm getting tired. Haven't been able to focus on CP4, or even Nosferatu in Love. I can sense that I'm going to be alone, so what's the rush? It's like hurrying to a party where nobody you invited is going to "make it".
Fuck me.
I think, by now, this experience would stop someone from creating, but my "luck" as one who creates without much validation is because if I don't hold on to it, I will indeed be miserable; scary-miserable; I-may-not-want-to-live miserable. It's my anti-drug, my life-line, whatever you call it. The reason I can have almost no real-life friends and be single for 23 years. I'm sad that something of such colossal meaning is being ignored by the friends I have, too. They're missing a piece of me, and may be comfortable missing it.
Negative Nancy moment complete.
In the strictly creative sense, I'm a very lucky person. I always like to work on things, I never stop a project because of lack of feedback because the concept and the characters mean too much to me, and, even if it takes me a while, I can get a lot done. I'm persistent throughout years. Things don't fall out of fashion with me. I love and am loyal to everything I do. Didn't say that to sound like a perfect writer with a one-up on everyone, because I'm about to avalanche with angst.
The sad thing is that I'm always coveting followers. I feel extremely isolated and very little of what I do brings me closer to other people. You know, I feel like a failure. If one tries this hard to bring their art to others and it doesn't work, how can you tell them not to worry about it and assure them that they're really doing anything worthwhile? What if it means something that they can't inspire even their friends to check out their work and give them some support? What can it mean? Are there other meanings besides that your work is just subpar and you don't even know it? Well meaning as some of my friends are, they can't say more than "it's just bad luck," "it's just temporary."
I don't buy it.
I think there's a problem with me. I'm worried that I have the wrong idea about the quality of my work and that I only see it how I do because it's mine and it's all I have. I'm worried I'm unable to see it in the larger picture as something that is really not standing out or seeming clever. I'm worried all along I'm mediocre, maybe even plain juvenile and cliche.
In 2008, Kate and I launched Crystal Palace 3. Three friends left us comments for the first few parts, and a couple others gave us empty adds to their watches to pretend they cared. We haven't gotten a comment there in terms of readership since 2009, despite what a whore I was on every single site I could possibly think of. I was pouring CP3 illustrations out of my ass in 2010, linking a new site on DA, linking on FB, linking on my own journal and this journal, I made a FB page last year, and in all that time, those three friends from 2008-2009 have been the only ones to ever comment. I know one person on DA who's read it all, it's not that I'm ungrateful for individual people who've helped me feel better when I'm down, but that's still not success. That is flat-out failure. I don't know what to do anymore. CP2 was similarly ignored, and nobody even realizes we started CP4. I don't plan to give it up, but a definite contributing factor to it being written at a snail's pace is that nobody fucking cares. My own friends don't even want to read not only mine but Kate's work, which is supposed to be something that brings us together.
When I was in high school, when I was creative, it did bring people together. My shitty line-paper comic The Adventures of Akira and Jennifer was something our friends always wanted updates on. We'd read it during lunch and laugh about it. To me, that's what a story is all about. You need to be persistent and love what you're doing enough to do it in any case, but everything I've made was meant to be a social experience. Stories are social. They're a connection between creator and viewer, meant for them to communicate with each other, and I honestly feel like in most situations I'm screaming to the universe about who I am and what I think is important and no one's listening. It's like I'm in space.
I'm too isolated in person. I spend every day by myself, only thriving because of my creativity. Before it I was miserable, and without it, so I would be again. Stories are how I feel I have company. It's kind of wearing off, though, and I don't feel like I have company anymore. I feel completely and utterly alone and talentless, and I have to watch other people get what I don't have when it seems like they aren't doing anything differently.
The Crystal Palace series, despite all that work -- ignored.
Unknown Color -- failure.
The Staircase -- failure.
Tilly & Jo -- utter failure.
You know why people read He's There? Because they think it's Phantom of the Opera fanfiction and it gives them nearly the same amount of fan-service. I know that's why it had readership. It's been my only taste of attention, but I'm aware that it isn't altogether original work, and I'm being rewarded because of it, because people do not like original work very much or give it a chance. Unless, of course, it's blow-your-socks-off genius. I know that's not what my work is.
Without a crutch from an existing fandom, I am fucked.
This has been going on for about 6 years. How is it a phase? How can somebody look me in the eye and tell me things won't be like this in the future and that some day the whole world will be hit by a meteor that is my "genius"? As well-meaning as it is, I get angry when people say stuff like this because it seems to lack empathy for me -- they are not attempting to imagine what my experience has felt like and actually think that saying shit like this will make me feel better. You must be tripping. I'm supposed to believe that "just nobody notices yet how awesome I am". I don't even think I'm awesome! Is it healthy to feel you're awesome? The whole thing crumbles instantaneously! There's no way for a sane person to believe that. Everyone wants to turn towards the future with annoying optimism instead of looking critically towards the past. What. Does. It. Mean. That. I'm. So. Alone?!
That's why I'm getting tired. Haven't been able to focus on CP4, or even Nosferatu in Love. I can sense that I'm going to be alone, so what's the rush? It's like hurrying to a party where nobody you invited is going to "make it".
Fuck me.
I think, by now, this experience would stop someone from creating, but my "luck" as one who creates without much validation is because if I don't hold on to it, I will indeed be miserable; scary-miserable; I-may-not-want-to-live miserable. It's my anti-drug, my life-line, whatever you call it. The reason I can have almost no real-life friends and be single for 23 years. I'm sad that something of such colossal meaning is being ignored by the friends I have, too. They're missing a piece of me, and may be comfortable missing it.
Negative Nancy moment complete.
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