reflecting on 2021 from 2022

recently sold resin tray

We just had 142 works of resin art listed on Etsy, which felt satisfying—because it’s Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’s answer to the universe (plus one hundred)—but two items sold;

And while those sales were good—because they brought us to 50 sales (a critical halfway to one hundred)—now we need to list two more works of art so we can return to 142 listings;

Not to mention, of course, preparing those works of art for their homes with a shipping box, tissue paper, goodie bag, invoice, handwritten note on the invoice…

I get stuck on the handwritten note, though;

I have to tell myself: whatever i write, it’ll turn out fine


Despite what i said in the last post I made in September 2021, “the lining of my photo box,” i never switched the photo box to a colored background—we still take product photos on a white backdrop—but i started including photos from outside, and Chase helps with sunlit photos of resin art sometimes, too;

In addition, despite what i said in the other post I made in September 2021, “writing fantasy,” i haven’t developed much of a fantasy world, although i’ve created a sliver of a made-up place for a Dungeons and Dragons game, where five adventurers seek the philosopher’s stone for the Council of Wyrms;

Furthermore, i downloaded voiceovers for the video game i started making in 2019—before the pandemic knocked the wind out of me—so that’s still in the ephemeral zone of “i’ll finish that project eventually”;

So long as i don’t get sucked up by death or the technological singularity, the fantasy writing will turn out fine


But i am, unfortunately, still afraid of writing, same as when i wrote about it last August;

Graciously, i’ve forgiven myself for not blogging enough, or not writing short stories or poems or Wattpad chapters enough, alleviating the guilt that comes with this lull in my creative practice;

Resin art helps reduce the pressure, since i’m creating things, even if they aren’t in written form;

More importantly though, i’ve learned that fear cannot control my life;

Either i needed to accept (a) i am afraid of writing, but i am not afraid of living, so writing isn’t necessary to keep on living, or (b) i am afraid of writing, and writing defines me, so i cannot live anymore;

Obviously (a) was the necessary choice for moving forward (although i waited in (b) for a time, hoping i might stumble across (c) i am no longer afraid of writing);

Now i just accept (1) fear will stay for as long as it plans to stay, and (2) the writing will come back when it’s ready, which means: whenever i write, it’ll turn out fine

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