After two hours of trying to find patterns in the Spackle on my ceiling, I realized this was insomnia and that I should probably just sit up in bed and blog.

I'm staring at a dry river bed right now. The freelance gigs were gushing for about three months, and now that stream is dessicated. I want to live in a world where my talents are always in demand. I don't live in such a world.

Still, I don't want to bitch, because I've made some good art in the past few months. For God's sake, I made a whole album of folk music. I wrote four episodes of a new sitcom, with lots more episodes on the way. That's something to smile about.

I thought I'd be further along than this, though. Sure, I'm only three years out of college, but still, you expect things to pick up faster than this. You keep asking yourself: am I not marketing myself the right way? Do I not have the right skill set? Should I quit, should I give up, should I stop dreaming?

But the answer is no, no, no, no. You can't stop dreaming, because then you're dead. Even if you're alive for another fifty years, you might as well be dead, because you gave up what made life worth living. You're an artist; deal with it. You have to make art, because you love it, and damn it, you're not good at anything else. To hell with the critics and the nay sayers. Long live skipped meals, looming bills, and brazen uncertainty, because that is The Path, and even if you've made mistakes along the way, there's no turning back from it. Make the necessary sacrifices.

My dream is to write and act stories, to draw and paint worlds, to play and sing songs. That's not going to change, ever, not for a lifetime. So I'll work the night shifts at the lackluster jobs and spend my daylight hours devoted to my calling. I'm not afraid to do that.