Saturday, April 21, 2012


I have a habit of destroying things I've put my heart into. Its cathartic, emulating the disturbing satisfaction of a suicide. I can't count the number of pages that have been torn up, thrown out, burnt, shredded, and discarded. Maybe it makes me stronger as an artist, builds up emotional callouses. It gives me the fortitude to stand up to editing, or critiques. Or maybe its just like picking at scabs, never letting something heal. Or maybe its fear of success. Wasn't that disease that was discovered when we were at our most successful? What a uniquely American ailment. Or it could just be that I get tired of something, and the passion runs out.

I don't have that problem when I work with others, though. I feel like I feed on the excitement the other people add to a project. Maybe that's why I don't feel any self-destructive impulses when it comes to gaming. Its almost like I'm cheating as an artist.

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