For those that struggle to start (faggots that can't sit down to draw)

[Anonymous No.21887074]

Dear friend:

First of all, I must say that I’ve been meaning to write to you for a long time. For years, actually. This letter has been in the making since I was a teenager. I'm about to enter the second quarter of my century, and I thought if I didn't do it now, I’d never do it.

I've been feeling very nostalgic lately. Every day I reflect on my life, especially on my art. You know I like to write. And I think about why I write. What is it that moves people to do anything?

I think it's love and pain. I believe that humans were made to escape pain and protect love. I say “protect” and not “seek” because love is inherent in human beings, contrary to what cynics might say. To be alive is to flow with love, and as proof of this I can show you the history of humanity: eras of pure misery, suffering that transcends generations, the worst of the worst. Would we consciously choose to continue an existence plagued with endless evils, if there wasn't a reason to do so? Don't you think we would have decided a long time ago to put an end to all evil forever, that is, to voluntarily extinguish ourselves, if we thought that was the most rational thing to do? What makes our small and insignificant species not choose to self-destruct is what makes it not so insignificant. It’s love for life that moves the world, my friend. It may be subconscious, it disguises itself, it changes shape, but it's there.

[Anonymous No.21887075]

But when it comes to art, it doesn't matter what moves the world; an artist is an individual, and the human mind must be analyzed in terms of its uniqueness. What can move an artist who has never loved, or who has never felt pain? Where can his magic... his inspiration come from? Where is an artist's love born?

Did you know that the word "art" used to refer to any skill that could be practiced? In Ancient Greece, “techne” meant art and technique; this is the etymological root of “art”.

Art is sensory. We can see it in paintings, movies and novels; we smell and taste it in culinary works; we can touch it on the fabric of a dress; we hear it in orchestras and indie rock bands. But its inspiration is not sensory. It isn’t intellectual either: it doesn’t come from the body or the mind.

There's a book called The War of Art (by Steven Pressfield) that states that all callings of the soul, that is, vocations, come from a single source, a single metaphysical force, separated, but united to us, that indicates the path we must follow to reach happiness. There is a force that wants us to accomplish our mission. They are the angels, the muses, the “inspiration”, whatever you want to call it. When we do what we came to do in the world, we are accompanied by this force.

But there is an obstacle, as immaterial as its counterpart. There’s another force that haunts all people, all the time. It's almost undetectable, very hard to see. Pressfield calls it "Resistance". It's the force that tries to prevent us from fulfilling our mission. I'm sure this will be familiar to you, it certainly is to me.

[Anonymous No.21887076]

Resistance fights against the divine. It’s an ally of abulia, depression and apathy. It’s a leech that feeds on suffering; it’s never satisfied and will never be. It has a colossal objective: to destroy love for life.

To me, Resistance feels like an endless list of priorities. Anything seems much more urgent than sitting down to write my ideas. There’s always something else to do, the time never seems right, my ideas have to wait to be written, they have to get in line. But what's strange is that when I get free time, I’m the one that goes out in search of something else. Leisure has to be avoided at all costs. Not even the idea of starting appears in my mind. And if it does, something inside me panics. Now’s the right time, inaudible voices whisper, if you don't do it now, you never will.

Then Resistance answers for me, without my noticing. It does so with my voice:


I have to watch that new anime that everyone is talking about.

I need cigarettes.

I have to go get a coffee with Miranda.

I have to get into a relationship.

I need to graduate.

You gain nothing from it, do something productive.

Something that makes money.


After reading Pressfield's book, I became more aware of its tricks. Bit by bit I began to hear its voice. A perverse imitation of my natural voice, that revealed more of its dirty nature the more attention I paid to its distorted resonance. Resistance went back to its hiding place. It has only one weakness, being found out.

[Anonymous No.21887079]

I cleared my schedule (that was never that busy), closed my bedroom door, put on my headphones and rested my fingers on the laptop keys. Muses are capricious; sometimes they play pranks, sometimes they test you. They are spontaneous, they like their orders to be followed immediately. Sometimes they abandon me when I'm alone with a blank document, patiently waiting for some indication, however precarious it may be.

They don't listen to threats. They don't care about your need to acquire capital to feed yourself, or ask about the status of your rent or bills. They only know that they won't let you be happy until you do what they say. They’re a little despotic in that respect. How inconsiderate... don't you think? Why couldn't they call me for a more lucrative and stable activity, like programming. There are people who have programming, medicine or law as vocation, good for them. My luck is that of a hostile and difficult to secure world. The muses don’t promise anything material. They don’t promise success, fame or fortune.

Resistance can also take the form of overly strict self-criticism. This is especially pernicious, because we may think those are our own perfectionistic standards. That our sensitivity to mistakes is so high that nothing we do seems to satisfy us. Of course, these criticisms are limited to our work only. We can appreciate other people's works and ignore the imperfections, sometimes we don't even notice them. It's hard to perceive that the criticism is rarely directed to our art, and is almost always directed to ourselves. If that haughty voice only leaves a bitter aftertaste, without anything constructive, it’s the voice of Resistance.

[Anonymous No.21887085]

Also you can’t argue with Resistance. No matter how much you argue with it, invariably you’ll lose. The only thing that can be done to weaken it is to listen to it attentively, knowing what it really is.

Resistance can also imitate (or reproduce) the voices of others. For example, an older brother:

"Cringe."

A father:

"Is that what you spend your time on?"

A friend:

*Laughter*

Or a negative comment on the internet:

"I hate Twilight Sparkle x Flash Sentry."

An artist with a severe and undiagnosed case of Resistance can truly lead a miserable life. Especially if the people around them don’t know anything about artistic calls, or if they are the involuntary spokespersons of their own Resistance.

"Nobody cares if you don't finish it."

"Nobody cares. Period."

It's hard to overcome the relentless urge to self-destruct when we see no reason to do so. It bleeds empty, boring hours, in which we are almost paralyzed on the bed, lazily sliding our fingertips across the phone screen. You have time, right? Art can wait. Checking twitter is more important. Our pride doesn’t allow us to abandon the idea that one day we will put in 100% of our effort, one day we’ll get tired of lying to ourselves and we will study, draw, write, exercise or sleep well. But that day never comes. That's why every birthday feels so miserable. If you get to work, the years that go by won't make you despair, I assure you.

Who can leap into the void, relying only on faith in oneself? A lunatic.

Who can leap into the void, relying on faith in oneself, and survive? Those that trust, I suppose.

[Anonymous No.21887086]

And I don't mean that they trust that in the end, they’ll accomplish all their goals, that they’ll live out the fantasies of the future that were born in childhood. Fulfilling your mission doesn’t mean that. The muses don’t dictate fate or circumstances. Trusting them promises nothing but their company.

What I mean by all this is that art fulfills a function, one of the most selfish ones there is. It helps the artist to be happy. For some that means expressing their pain through art. Others express the love that fills their hearts, love for art or for life. My muse is honesty. When writing fiction or a letter like this, I'm being honest, and that is pure happiness.


Sincerely,

A lonely writer


P. S. This letter is addressed to you, reader, and it was inspired by a poet (who doesn't know me, but I do) that is facing an illness and keeps creating his art like a true warrior.

[Anonymous No.21887171]

>>21887086
This was written by a woman, wasn't it? I can feel the feminine energy ooze out of this confession. The aversion to strong, short words. Every sentence sanded down to avoid saying "Nigger, fuck, shit, piss, cunt." And even in a civil setting where harsh words aren't needed, a man speaks straight and to the point. This effortpost could have been reduced to; quit being a lazy faggot and write.

[Anonymous No.21887179]

What the hell is this autism. You clearly wrote this for yourself but thought so highly of it you felt like you HAD to show it to us

[Anonymous No.21887523]

oh

[Anonymous No.21887891]

>>21887179
>>21887171
I thought it at least started pretty strong, thanks for posting btw anon I liked reading it.

[Anonymous No.21887898]

>>21887074

[Anonymous No.21888044]

>>21887074
I often wish I was more talented, more creative, better overall at expressing myself; and I felt something stir when reading the part about self-criticism. It didn't provide my an answer, as there's nothing as straightforward as that, but now I feel a little more hopeful. I hope that hope lingers a while longer.
On the other hand, it pains me deeply that I can't imagine myself ever using love as a source of inspiration, as I never felt anything close to that enigmatic and elusive feeling. I try, okay? But at this point anything less than a complete overhaul of my priorities and everything I stand for would be disappointing. I guess I have to wait and hope that it comes naturally. I hope that I will not lose this hope

[Anonymous No.21888134]

[Anonymous No.21888182]

This was amazing anon

Please marry me

[Anonymous No.21888195]

Actually. I have one criticism

"I hate Twilight Sparkle x Flash Sentry."

I have to agree with that one anon. You gotta understand, the proven superior ship is Sunset Shimmer x Twilight Sparkle.

In all seriousness, do you write fanfiction? I teeter between wherever I should continue that hobby or just focus on original stories instead. You end up spending a lot of time on something that's not going to advance your writing career at all.

[Anonymous No.21888298]

>>21888195
>You end up spending a lot of time on something that's not going to advance your writing career at all
Yeah I get that. I don't write fanfics that much anymore bc of that reason, but a few months ago it was the only thing I did.

>You gotta understand, the proven superior ship is Sunset Shimmer x Twilight Sparkle.
I respect that. I kinda like eq twilight (non pony) with sunset.

[Anonymous No.21888303]

>>21888044
I'm glad I could at least give you hope anon

[Anonymous No.21888307]

>>21888182
Thank you:-)

[Anonymous No.21888319]

>>21888195
>You end up spending a lot of time on something that's not going to advance your writing career at all
Yeah I get that. I don't write fanfics that much anymore bc of that reason, but a few months ago it was the only thing I did.

>You gotta understand, the proven superior ship is Sunset Shimmer x Twilight Sparkle.
I respect that. I kinda like EG twilight (non pony) with sunset.

[Anonymous No.21888347]

>>21888044
Wdym you can't use love as a source of inspiration? If you've got hope for something or the need for hope, surely you love that for which you need to be hopeful for.

On the other hand, I understand the struggle. A lot of times I feel like I want to write about ideas rather than humanity. For me what really matters is the love you put into what you do, and if you do something lovingly, it ought to be good.

[Anonymous No.21888523]

>>21887179
Isn't that what any writer does?

[Anonymous No.21888527]

>>21887171
I wanted to be clear in what I meant

[Anonymous No.21889046]

>>21888527
You traded clarity for purple prose in this blogpost, I'm afraid. One could have easily said;
" Dear /lit/, I know a lot of you faggots online here don't read or write either due to pure laziness, fear of failure, or just because you aren't even interested in the topic. I'm here to say that you CAN and SHOULD write in your journal. Why? Because the big man upstairs gave your body on lease and you don't know when he's coming to collect. So put your ass in gear and start writing whatever comes to your little heart's content, otherwise your harlequin scat vore smut which the world's eagerly waiting for with baited breath won't be created!"
There, your blogpost boiled and condensed into a airtight tin. You're welcome.

[Anonymous No.21890196]

>>21887074
Didn't read a thing but I approve of whatever you said.

[Anonymous No.21890212]

>>21890196
Just read the thing and I withdraw my approval. You took paragraphs to say what you could have said in a sentence. It's like one of those fluffed up forewords.

[Anonymous No.21890707]

>>21889046
>I'm here to say that you CAN and SHOULD write in your journal.
I'm not here to tell anyone they should do anything. I just wanted to express these things and I did as succintly as I could. It's more like a diary and people can take from it whatever they want

[Anonymous No.21890710]

>>21890212
okay anon

[Anonymous No.21890729]

>>21888347
>For me what really matters is the love you put into what you do, and if you do something lovingly, it ought to be good.
I agree

[Anonymous No.21892336]

umm

[Anonymous No.21893205]

>>21889046
real