Growing up, my mom used to take us to the library once a week. My sister and I
would max out each other’s library cards, then turn to my mom and put a pile
more of books on her card. We always got the princess books, and when we got
home, we would lock ourselves in the bathroom and turn on the heater and sit on
the rug and lose ourselves in the pictures. I never really thought about the
people that drew the pictures; I really thought pictures like that had to be
some form of magic, a combination of computers and fairy dust. I went to a very
small school that placed a huge emphasis on character education and athletic
prowess. I remember from second grade and each year on, going through an
excersize where we were required to pick positive character qualities for our
fellow classmates. I always got stuck with “creative”, frustratingly enough. The
chubby one, she was creative. Let’s leave compassionate for the beauty and
disciplined for the cheerleaders, but that girl in her bubble over there?
Creative. I hated it. It singled me out come homecoming dec time, got me
projects to design newsletter covers that I hated, put me as the one reading my
short stories in front of the class, mostly because football jocks thought
princess heroines were the easiest to make fun of. Come awards time, there were
letters for all the sports–tennis, volleyball, football, basketball, and so
on–but never any letters for an art project. Who ever heard of getting a letter
jacket for a great watercolor? By the time I graduated, my ability to draw and
write was nothing but a handicap in my eyes. The princess books had long been
laid aside in pursuit of more noble efforts; what noble efforts I was in pursuit
of even I couldn’t tell you. They say when you don’t know what you’re looking
for you usually find it, but that actually doesn’t make much sense because how
can you find something if you don’t know what it is to begin with? I think what
they (who the heck is they?) mean, is, if you don’t know where you’re going,
you’ll end up back where you started, just a little wiser for the wear. So I
fell like I’m back to square one. I want to draw fairy dust. It’s frustrating. I
look at beautiful styles and illustrations and all I feel like I can do is
imitate them. It’s why so often I have a sketch book full of black and white
doodles. I never get to the color; I’m always too disappointed that the doodle
looks like something I’ve seen before. I guess it’s because I’m only good at
drawing what I see. I’m not good at drawing from my imagination. Drew said after
we watched the movie last week that I needed to find my “Neverland”, and I
wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, “I have found my Neverland! I just
don’t know how to draw it!” Which is probably denial for, “I haven’t found my
Neverland, because if I had, I would have drawn it.” I’ve been looking at
penguin art and jingle art and wee art and I know it’s far more than computers;
it’s mostly fairy dust. Really, truly, beautifully, sparkley, magic fairy dust,
straight from their Neverlands. I just got done reading an article on a huge
paper company out of Arkansas whose revenue last year topped $5 million. (FIVE.
MILLION. DOLLARS. OMG.) Most days I feel like it’s all I can do to run my leetle
company. Then comes new-product time, and I feel myself thrown between the role
of artist and number cruncher, a role that doesn’t normally mix well. I read
blogs every day that are wittier, funnier and more honest with the world than I
feel I could ever be. I look at people who are doing more good with their lives
than I ever thought possible. And I wonder where I fit into all this. Who am I?
Writer? Artist? Good Samaritan? Leetle Company Runner? And then I think, maybe I
am just Reader of Princess Books and Dreamer of Fairy Dust Draw-er and maybe
that’s just fine.
