Having friends who are artists and writers is wonderful. They showed me that there’s more to life than just work. There’s a whole world of beauty out there, how using your imagination, you can share that beauty with everyone. They inspire me to write and draw.
Then I look at my own work and I see how awful it is; the stilted wording, wooden characters, the barely recognisable drawings, and it makes me want to give up. It makes me wonder why did I want to do this in the first place?
It’s during those times that I remember that my friends didn’t become awesome writers and artists overnight. They’ve had years of practice. They’re always writing and drawing. I don’t practice as much as they do, so I can’t expect to be as good. Besides, I’ve only started drawing again only a few months ago, after more than a decade and a half of not even attempting to do it.
So I write a little. I draw a little. And hopefully, play the uke again (a little). Maybe, in a few years, I’ll be as good as my friends.