A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I was an artist. I still am. I’m a poet, a sculptor, a writer, and an ass-kicker.


Here’s what I’ve learned about the lies I tell myself and the truths I refuse to believe. You probably resonate with them if you’re as caught up in the creative process as I am.


Three lies creatives tell themselves:


  1. My work isn’t any good. I’ve lost my skills. I never had skills. I should probably work at a bank, since all I’m good for is copying down other people’s information.


  1. Nobody else enjoys my work, even if it is good. There’s no market appeal.


  1. I’m deluding myself with thoughts of destiny, purpose, and giftedness. A mature adult is supposed to just buckle down and make a living. Art is a hobby. I’m a slob.


Now that you’ve heard excerpts from the soundtrack in my head when I’m feeling down, let me also invite you to listen to the powerful truths with which I combat my despair.


Three truths creative forget to believe:


  1. I need to learn from my mistakes and stop expecting immediate recognition. My mantra? Work harder. Get better.


  1. Good work finds an audience. Stop moaning about the absence of an audience and make one up. Broaden your scope. Pimp your work.


  1. Mature artists abandon the juvenility of self-loathing. Art is prayer. Art is therapy. Make it better. Then, make more.