Losing faith in neutrinos

I really and truly wish I could draw.

I’ve had about a billion ideas for stories this summer, and new ones come to me every day. I suppose they would work in prose, but prose feels very cold to me right now. It’s just text on a page. There’s nothing that jumps out. For someone to actually sit down and read it, they’d have to put a lot of faith in me. I find the graphic novel to be a lot more immediately expressive — the good ones just leap off the page.

I’m probably just lazy. I’d rather just write dialogue. I don’t see much of a reason to write descriptive passages. They take too much time, and are often infuriating. There’s so much in this world. So much depth and detail. I’m not sure words can ever really capture it all. The only real truth in writing is in the conversations.

I wish I could draw some of my stories, but I have absolutely NO artistic ability. I never even learned to hold a pencil right — I have this sort of neanderthal death grip writing style. I generally take the pen with my fist and just kind of push it about it every which way. It never works. The best art I ever produced was a tiny drawining in the margin of a notebook years ago — a little stick figure man embracing the rain. It was beautiful. But I can’t ever reproduce it, no matter how hard I try.

I’ve experimented with photoshop a lot. I can do basic photo manipulation, but when it comes to creating something new and substantial, I just don’t have the patience. I want results and I want them NOW.

So here I am. Nineteen, almost twenty. Head full of ideas, but short on outlets. Need to make friends with an artist. Sitting in an empty house on Sunday Night. Decided to be a Failed Artist. Watched Final Futurama Episode. Made me sad. Sentences fragment. What the hell is that beeping sound.