What Lies Between the Lines...
They don't tell you about the nights when you'll cry; when you'll curse and rave and throw wadded up tissues at the monitor. They don't tell you about the number of times you'll want to throw your pencil or brush or tablet pen in the garbage disposal and flip the switch.
They don't tell you about the time spent painting insane detail onto tiny things that no one will ever see, ever appreciate, ever understand except to say "nice" or "pretty" or "wow"--none of which ever come close to how you felt when you painted it. How you felt when you stepped back and stared and were awed for a moment that you had pulled something like *that* out of your brain and your hands and your skill. They dont tell you how it will feel, for that one moment, to glow like a god, having just created a world.
They don't tell you how it's going to feel when that isn't enough. They don't tell you that sometimes it will never be enough--there will always be someone whose