It’s sunny outside.
It’s the kind of morning of which I like to dream. Not cold, but not quite warm. No clouds. No wind. I can hear the birds and smell the honeysuckle. It’s perfect.
It’s enough to make me want to freeze time and wander the morning for a few thousand years.
I should be working, but I’m not. I’ve just finished publishing another pair of books, and I find myself slogging through a short story about which I’m only somewhat passionate.
Sometimes, when I hit a lull like this, I pick up my paintbrush and spread out a few shadows. Maybe a colorful tree. A mournful maiden. Or maybe something terrifying.
Not today. I’m not in the mood.
I really just want to hang with the cat.
This is where I’m at:
Eaters of the Light, my sci-fi/romance/thriller series? It’s published.
My goal of finishing thirty canvas paintings at this point in the year? Exceeded.
The latest entry in my ridiculous ‘Reasons to Break Up’ trilogy? Slapped together and shipped.
It’s been a good year so far. But I want more.
Some people talk about creative exhaustion. About writer’s block. About procrastination, lack of direction, and boredom.
Nah. Forget all that.
I’ve got 99 problems, but none of ’em are those.
My cardinal sin? Setting reachable goals.
It’s like this. Some mountains in life are meant to be climbed. You say you want to save $1000 bucks for a vacation? Boom, you did it; now get in the car and head to the beach. Land a big promotion at work? Achieved. Need to step outside and mow your lawn? Nice, you’re finished…hopefully with a cool glass of bourbon awaiting you inside.
But artistic goals – are those really meant to be conquered? Of this, I’m not so sure. Is there ever a point at which an author sits down and says, ‘You know…I think I’m done. No more books. I’m just gonna drift away into the sunset .’ Do painters, sculptors, and photographers one day just set down their tools and declare their life’s work complete? I mean…maybe. Maybe some people can do it. Maybe the best of the best reach a point of contentedness, and afterward float away in the clouds with a satisfied smile on their faces.
But somehow I doubt it.
My son – the G Man. He’s not impressed.
Last night, for the first time in forever, I didn’t create. My brushes sat in a Mason jar full of water, soaking up nothing. My new short story ‘Nadya the Deathless’ laid untouched on my century-old laptop. I didn’t draw. I didn’t write. I didn’t wander outside beneath the perfect stars to dream up a new and exhilarating story.
I just sat there in the gloom of my basement. With a bowl of Progresso soup. Vaguely watching a movie. Not really thinking, moving, or existing.
For a while, maybe an hour, I floated in the stillness. Near the end, a scary idea crept over me. I thought perhaps I’d made a grave error in setting goals that were too easy to achieve. ‘Aim low, and you’ll hit your target,’ I realized. ‘Shoot for the moon, and though you’ll never make it, you’ll get to die trying.’
I opened my eyes. The back door was open, and the moths fluttering inside to get at the room’s only lamp. My cats dozed beside me, savoring my rare moment of inactivity.
It was then I knew my low-goal setting hadn’t been some tragic thing.
I can make a new goal, I realized. Something lofty. Something impossible to reach.
Something I’ll be proud to die trying to do.
So let’s talk goals.
Quest to drop the One Ring into Mount Doom kind of goals.
Right now I’ve got thirty-two published books. My new goal – one-hundred.
Right now my painting store is stocked with one-hundred nine original canvas paintings. New goal – three-hundred.
Season one of Hollow Empire is finished. New goal – finish three full seasons.
This giant fantasy trilogy, the one I published five years ago, has begun to gather dust. New goal – sell one-thousand new copies…and write a sequel.
And my most ambitious goal, the one that’ll allow me to sniff retirement, is to sell one-million copies of this little tome. (Right now I’m only at thirteen-thousand copies sold.)
This should be fun.
It’s still sunny outside, although maybe a bit warmer now. And there’s just a few things more I want to share before I wander outside.
My art partner, Tahina Morrison, with whom I’ve created nearly one-hundred sculpted paintings, is leaving town. It was inevitable, this change. It’s humanity’s natural ebb and flow. As I sit in my little chair and think about the challenges that will arise in her absence, I can’t help but smile.
We did good work together, she and I.
We had a blast.
These are just a few of my favorite collaborative pieces. In Tahina’s absence, I realize my painting goals will be even more difficult to achieve.
So be it. Challenge accepted.
I think it’s probably time.
Time to open the door and step out into the sunlight.
Time to stop talking about goals and start realizing them.
Time to feed my cats.
Thanks to all my readers for sticking with me. Thanks to all the art collectors who’ve invested in me, and who happily stick my canvasses on their walls. And special thanks to Tahina and the G Man, without whom the last two years would’ve been infinitely less rewarding.
Goodbye for now.
I’ll be back.
* * *
Readers will want to check out this book here. Trust me…you’ll be happy you did.
And dark art lovers might appreciate this piece, which I created based on an actual skull sitting in my living room.
J Edward Neill