You know that part where the hero is battered, torn, and left for dead, when everyone has given up on him except his childhood sweetheart, and then buoyed by her love he finds the strength within himself to climb to his feet, glibly state, "Stand back, doll. This is gonna get ugly," then lurch stoically forward to stand against the bad guy one last time before ultimately winning because he's just too manly to lose? This is nothing like that.
All month long I have known that Conduit was coming up, and a dear friend, whose unquestioning faith in me beings tears to my eyes, bought me a panel to display my art at the art show. I haven't shown at a con in a very, very long time. I haven't produced con art in an even longer amount of time. I had hoped to reward my friend's faith in me by having two hand colored prints, a new bookmark illustration (for the Leprechaun and not for sale), and a large painted original produced in time. There was plenty of time to do it. Frankly, I have had since Christmas to prepare…
The problem is, as you know, I am having a difficult time balancing my time well. Writing with ADHD is like that. Between full time daddy duty, insomnia, and the incessant ticking, I only have a few short hours to myself each day. If I haven't piddled it away by being distracted, that time is normally taken up writing for ADDaboy! I've written some pretty good articles over there, so I hope you've been enjoying them. However, my Splintered Books project has come to a near standstill in the past two weeks, and drawing never even entered into the equation. I've taken to audio blogging here so that people don't think I've fallen off the edge of the Earth.
Truthfully, I have known for some time there was only so much time in my day. I couldn't excel at writing AND drawing within the small window—not with my plate so full of responsibilities and disabilities. Since I was having neurological problems drawing, I decided to focus in on writing. I don't regret the decision; I've certainly become a much better writer because of it. However, I do miss art. I still sketch on a regular basis to keep up my skills, but I haven't undertaken a new work in years.
Telling my friend for a second year in a row that I couldn't show was humiliating. I know that it wasn't my fault, but still I feel I didn't manage things as I should have. I should have paced better. My wife and I have decided I will try to prepare one piece of art each month starting next month. Baby steps. That way I can eventually be prepared to show, maybe even sooner than next year's Conduit.
Speaking of baby steps, I have been trying to set a writing goal of a mere 25 words per day. I'll blog about it more in detail later, but suffice to say I rarely stop at 25. But even that was too many to do over the past week where I wrote perhaps once last week and ticked during the rest. I don't want you to think I'm whining, but it is difficult to tic so frequently. My mind cannot occupy creative thoughts during those times. It seems as if the right side of my mind is cut off from the left. This is disruptive to writing, as you can imagine, and renders drawing a pointless endeavor. Well, aside from the fact its hard to draw when your arm is flailing about like a grounded paramecium. But still I press on.
Even though all creative time seems to be saved for ADDaboy!, the little I have eked out has shaped and formed my book in new ways. I am excited to be in the fourth chapter and know that if I continue to press onwards, I will finish it—probably only a few months after Christ returns…
