Blessings from The Artist’s Way
By
Nancy Rorke
Sometimes
I am my own worst enemy. I sabotage myself by not listening to that small, still
voice within that guides me to greatness. Or what I believe would be great for
me. Instead, I listen to my censor, consisting of my parents, my siblings, and
my critical friends.
Often I think, Who
am I to dream that I could make a difference with my writing? Who am I to
believe that I can live a creative life? Do creative people have anxiety because
when we were children we received negative comments whenever we told adults what
we wanted to be?
When my artist daughter was four, she asked her father,
“Daddy, do artists make any money?”
“Only if they’re dead,” he said.
I, of course, in the privacy of the kitchen, threatened murder
if he uttered anymore discouraging remarks. But it was too late. It took her
too many years to count before she picked up a paintbrush again.
When I was twelve a relative asked, “Why, with all the
great writers, did I think I would have something to say?” Then I began to
doubt myself. I don’t understand why some people discourage artistic dreams.
I frequently wonder why new writers forgo their vocation.
Is it because we are constantly told that authors are born writers? The truth
is that all writers struggle to learn the craft. Gifted artists, actors, dancers,
musicians, performers, singers, writers, and all creative people practice their
art.
Why won’t I allow myself to write badly? After all, it’s
only practice? Why is it that I compare my beginning work with that of seasoned
pros? What in God’s name is wrong with me? Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, says we need to take a
leap of faith, but it’s difficult for me to believe that God cares about my writing.
Another
issue I have is that I only hear negative comments about my work and I negate
the positive ones. Why can’t I just write for the sake of creating or for the
joy that I experience when I write? Instead I think, Maybe it’s a waste of time. I can’t be a real writer because they make
lots of money. Why did I believe that I could become the writer of my
dreams? Could it be, because since I can remember, I’ve always wanted to write?
Whenever
I am discouraged, I remember Mrs. Palmer, my Grade 10 teacher. I asked her to
look at a short story I’d written over the summer holidays, and she agreed.
Three days later she told me that the head of the English department saw my
story and he wanted me to join the Grade 13 writing club.
During
numerous bouts of writer’s block I pull this compliment up and think they must
have thought that I could write. Thank God for Mrs. Palmer and all my English
teachers who always encouraged me.
I don’t know what led me to write this, but,
for some reason, it appeared on my page this morning. Could it be blessings
from The Artist’s Way that causes me
to reflect on the page and take dictation from my soul?
