This post is off the cuff, unplanned.

I’m a creative person. But I’m not. I come up with a good idea for a book, I work on the book, I create a premise, I create a 3 Act overview outline, I read books on writing, I download helpful templates for writing, I watched oodles of YouTube videos promising I can do it. And then I get scared.

The Perfectionist in me steps forward and asks in an angry voice, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re not a writer, or an artist, or a comic book creator, or a songwriter. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m creating.”, I timidly respond.

“You’re friends and family are going to laugh at what you are trying to create. It’s not good enough. You’re wasting your time. You’ll never be a writer, or an artist or a songwriter. There is no money in creating. Stop this nonsense.”

“Maybe you’re right, what was I thinking.” So I push that creative person back into the closet and let the responsible, dependable Adult step forward.

The responsible, dependable Adult goes to a boring non-creative job, makes good money and shares that money with family and friends in need. Many depend on responsible, dependable Adult. Adult works with people who take life and work seriously. These people drain the life out of him. Work succubus. Adult wishes for a day when he didn’t have to be responsible and dependable for anyone but himself, and his wife of course.

I’m a creative person. Really, I am. Just let me out of this closet.