If I took my craftiness and made marketable designs, I would feel they're a concrete effort. If I ever finished a painting (or a dozen), I would be happy with that, even if they never sold. If I could produce more than one comic 'zine. If the architecture profession still had the power to move me to make sacrifices. If I actually finished a manuscript or a short story. If, if, if.
What I do have going on is a manuscript that has been mutating for close to ten years, a job I could care less about that cost me a ton of debt (school), a whole slew of half-finished artwork, and propensity to cast on more than I can possibly knit. I have been pretty serious about the blog, yet... Well, I haven't spent much time on the formatting, etc., have I?
You can tell what kind of day I'm having, right?
I think this is about how I can't seem to make myself write on a consistent basis. Why can't I do this? My boyfriend/ partner/ whatnot is willing to bend over backwards for me to have the time. And I do have the time. But then I go and knit something or watch a DVD or some other evasive maneuver.
Part of me says this is because I am incapable of being committed to something for very long. My boyfriend/ partner/ whatnot has noted that I go in waves, getting obsessed with a project for weeks or months, and then suddenly lose interest. I ususally come back to it eventually, maybe a year later. Of course by then I can't remember exactly what I was thinking when I started it so I have to reconsider it all.
Another part of me says that if I truly felt passionate about something, if I really cared, it should be easy to stick with it. I suspect this is bullshit, but I can't be certain.