You can draw?
That’s my 12-year old son.
I’m sitting in the leather chair playing around with a drawing program on the iPad.
“What are you doing?”
“You can’t draw.”
“Anyone can draw.”
“No they can’t.”
A couple of seconds. He watches me. He’s curious, a little skeptical, and knows that I’m unpredictable enough to draw an orange circle that I’ll insist is his inner essence.
“That looks like me.”
“Right. Anyone can draw.”
“No. You can draw!”
That’s not what I want, of course. I want him to have a glimpse that you don’t need a license to be creative, you just have to open up.
I’m not being wholly open with him, though. He doesn’t need to know the whole picture. He doesn’t know that I write, that I keep this blog, that I hide behind a veil of anonymity because I’m not confident that I can handle having my creative self connected to my public self, that I spent years dominated by a writer’s block that took my essence away from me, and I don’t know that I could fight it off again.
He doesn’t need to know that yet because maybe it won’t be scary to him.