Writing is rarely my problem. Drawing isn't either, so long as I have the time and energy. Some days I might struggle to come up with a decent joke but that too is usually linked to tiredness and not thinking about the joke early enough in the day.
My main problem is simply finding places to send my work. I am not a great networker and, what's worse, I am plagued by insecurities. The combination is bad in the sense that I read all manner of rebuke in a failed email. It's the lonely side of the business, though writing is always a lonely line of work. You write to communicate and, hopefully, have communication back but it rarely ever happens. Most days it feels like yelling into a very deep and bleakly black hole. You're lucky to hear an echo.
I have three essays written and one good cartoon but I expect they'll go the way of most: disappear into my 'Essays' folder, never to again see the light of day. I could blog them but, really, it's the ultimate admission of failure. Perhaps it's the weather that drives me to this mood. It's been dark for weeks and I should, in truth, bang on the SAD lamp. I think it works when I do but until I do I doubt if it can be anything as simple as that. Maybe tomorrow.
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