Too many bloggers, writers, models like to pump fake. They don’t want to tell the truth about the “process” out of fear of looking bad or not fitting in with the elites of social media.
Lookie, I’ve been flown out to this fancy place.
I have a fancy ass doughnut in front of a colored wall.
I’m really skinny, but I’m enjoying two scoops of fancy ice cream with my very skinny and photogenic friend.
My life is soooooo fancy and amazing.
No mental illness. No cellulite. No acne.
Do not be fooled by pretty Instagram photos with blurred backgrounds, magical lighting effects and poetic captions. The majority of us are struggling. Just keepin’ it real. *Shrugs*
I’ve never been inspired by individuals who don’t tell the truth. Who paint pictures of themselves in a certain light that just ain’t reality. Individuals who showcase the success of their careers and not the actual climb, the grueling process of making it to the top. That’s what inspires me. Your failures. The path you took and how you overcame them.
The paths we all take, artist or not, have failures riddled along them. Catastrophic ones and teeny ones. They are inevitable. Too many artists with large platforms aren’t showcasing that fact. So, their devout followers believe that the way to the top is as simple as copying a feed of someone who is successful.
Anyone you know who has ever become an icon most likely didn’t make it by cutting and pasting someone else’s shit. They were innovative. Ridiculed by others. Outcasts. Weirdos growing up. They never followed trends and did their own thing no matter what others had to say about it.
They paved their own path. Created a niche.
A lot of us don’t even know where that path leads. We just take that leap and hope we don’t end up smashing into the ground and dying…
I worked just to invest money back into my art (and, of course, pay the dreaded adult bills).
I started blogging in 2013. Y’all know the story. Several failed blogs and YouTube channels and years later this one caught on. During all that mess, I worked odd jobs. All of which I hated. None of them were creative or gave a fuck about me. I was just there for the paycheck. I worked on my art on and off. Mostly off. These jobs were sucking my creative juices. I’d found myself at home after work, stuck in a rut. Unable to write.
That rut lasted for five years. The worst years of my entire existence.
Somehow, by divine intervention, I was placed back on the path of art. I used my own money to buy books on editing and literature of the great storytellers of our time. I used my own money to take creative writing classes at the local community college. I joined discussion boards and wrote and read and wrote and read some more.
I worked just to invest money back into my art (and, of course, pay the dreaded adult bills). Money that could’ve gone into paying off my student loans or purchasing a house or maybe traveling…
I had read all the books and took all the classes, but I still wasn’t getting anywhere. So, I decided to get my masters in creative writing. I went back and forth about it. I already had about $20,000 worth of debt left from my bachelor’s. More debt!
I literally fought myself. I was really gonna spend that much money on another degree. But, my art was on the line. I had to at least see where it could take me. I prayed, then took a gamble.
No one will ever invest in you like YOU will.
As a broke artist, I stress out a lot about money on the regular.
No one will ever be as invested in your art, your passion like YOU will.
And, with that mentality and stubbornness, I added on another $50,000 worth of debt.
This isn’t a woe-is-me post. I’m just telling you like it is.
But, with the debt I incurred (and still deep in), I gained a wealth of knowledge, two masters and connections that I would’ve never made otherwise. That large investment opened many doors. One day, I do hope to pay that off.
As a broke artist, I stress out a lot about money on the regular. This entire year (prior to the divorce), I’ve been hanging on by a thread. Paying my major bills like my car and insurance and rent. Sometimes food. But I live a life that most of you don’t care to ask or just don’t know about.
I don’t get paid for 90% of my work.
The photos you see are products of bartering or friends just loaning me their time.
The clothes I wear are sent by companies who don’t even pay for blog posts half the time.
I blog for free.
My social media is free.
I have an agent, but I’m still on government assistance.
Bill collectors call my phone daily.
I’m just getting by and actually had to ask for charity a few times. (And no, I don’t have mommy and daddy or grandparents to back me up.)
I’m not the only one. There are many of us out there who are just trying to make it. Trying to stay afloat. Putting $20 here and there on a $1000 medical bill.
But, I’m so close to the finish line that I couldn’t possibly quit now. No matter how many companies ask for their money back, I have this unwavering hope that one day I’ll get paid for my shoots and paid for my work. That one day all the struggles and failures and energy will just work in my favor.