Today, suddenly, the depths of depression tried to skitter under my feet as I walked myself through the ending of the WIP. It's a contemporary fantasy YA, and I have it almost finished. I've even written and survived the first conflict of a two-wave climax.
And now, I feel like a surfer too far down the wave, with my surfboard bumping the coral on the bottom, and the fifteen foot wave looming over my head, ready to dump tons of water in an effort to grind me to smithereens. At those depths, I would ask you, my friends and fellow creators, Why? Why do we put so much of our tattered little souls out there? What drives us to create art? I have noticed that it doesn't matter if we are writing novels, filming movies, painting, drawing, dancing, singing. What compels us to create?
I would love to hear some discussion of this because I wonder myself. Why do we take a precious and somewhat private part of our soul or mind or being, and put it out for everyone else?
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