I am no longer my past.

Or at the very least, I'm trying desperately not to be.

Drawing and I go way back. The first [attempts] began somewhere between learning to walk and 1st grade. This continues through, I'd say, 10 years old. Then, for some reason beyond me, the film goes blank... skipping about 7 or 8 years.

??

...I was either in a coma, or I let my sniffles run away with my creative license.

The most debilitating part of knowing I used to love drawing and that I need it back now is the wasted time in between where it just ...disappeared. How did it just do that? And more to the point, how the hell do I make up for all of the time pouring past my fingertips?

It takes me days sometimes... to sit myself down and finally put my beloved 4B to paper, and this only after I've shoved aside the little overbearing critic in me. Him with his thin, wiry moustache and Frenchman cackle. A cartoon villain come to life and perched, quite comfortably, upon my shoulder.

My restlessness and angst aside, the squall that was my creative confidence has settled down and I've decided enough is enough. I have no problem owning up to my fears:

I'm scared to draw.

Can I explain it? Not entirely. Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland probably do my unsettledness better justice than I do. But to let it consume me would only add another 2, 3, 5, 8 years onto an already sizable tab I owe myself.

If I want to draw, then draw is what I'll do! Day-by-day, I will learn to set myself aside from myself because the only one responsible for those wasted years is me. And what better motivation is there than to see progression before your eyes; at least once-a-day, every day.

So is the beginning of Once A Slacker...