I just don't know where I want to go anymore. I mean, I know I want to draw. I want to create. I spend so much time in my imagination, in my own worlds. Sometimes worlds other people have created, sometimes my own. I have these ideas and stories, like half formed lumps of clay that I can SEE but aren't finished.

I mean, I would love to draw Batman, Spiderman, and friends, sure, that's always been a childhood dream. I just feel like I've got a better story to tell. If only one.

Maybe that's why I haven't been drawing as much as I should be. I say "yeah yeah, I'll do it, I love drawing." but then I don't draw for days, weeks. When I do sit down I end up doing five sketches of Batman or Poison Ivy, and say "hey, this one doesn't look half bad!" And leave it there. Sure the drawing means something, but the character, what I drew, means nothing; nothing more than being a means to an end. The end being creating something in my lifetime that inspires someone else. Whether it's through the art, or the story, or just the ambition/arrogance that some bastard like me had the balls to try to create something that he hoped would move someone someday.

Sure tomorrow when I wake up I'll look to see if any new Jim Lee or Michael Turner art has surfaced and try to learn something from it, but at the end of the day while I say I want to draw comics, I now know I love those artists not for how they drew, but for the love they put into their characters, stories, and art. I have to pull from that, I have to pull from my heart. I have to dig deep and finely shape that lump of clay inside me along side honing my drawing skills. Because if I don't, I don't deserve the right to create for a living.