Is it really for the money?

I remembered taking a value test in my Life Skills Class of high school. There were a bunch of values that we had to measure, one being family, the other being power, and plenty of other values. After taking the test, the value I got in first place is creativity. During the time, I may have misunderstood this, as I thought it meant I liked consuming creative content like listening to music. I never really considered myself to be a very creative person at the time. Later did I know that that was a true misinterpretation.

Maybe it was the imposter syndrome that got to me, but I must have had that fire in my soul all along whenever I do daily chores. Even when I’m riding on the bus or on the passenger seat of the car, on the back of my mind, I am imagining Manuel, Maron, Daisy, and Christina. It’s sort of like a selfish luxury, and that luxury is like a figurative currency.

It might be that I will not be paid for my imagination–but is that really the point? Why exactly do artists become artists? Why do they sacrifice so much to do their craft? It is the simple fact that without doing this, they basically die inside. It is like a form of therapy that one needs to live life feeling sane–it is very hard to box all those unique and interesting thoughts in.

This imaginative luxury is what keeps us, writers, going with our projects. The soul is put into it, and it acts as the engine. Overtime, with persistence and determination, it will become something that a grand audience would appreciate – but it all started with the spark. Some writers took them years before they actually got into the limelight, but internally, they were going through the ride all along.

I still want you to buy my book though . . . if possible.

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