When Prince died recently, it was rumoured that he had hundreds of unreleased songs hidden in his vault, that he barely slept so he could write and record all the songs in his head.
Seems a bit weird doesn't it? Except it doesn't. Not to me. Not now.
Maybe it's because I'm getting older — or maybe its because I'm not spending my spare time partying like I did when I was younger — but I've never been more aware that there's so much I want to make and so little time to do it in. Books I want to write, pictures I want to draw. And it worries me that I just won't get any of it done. Not if I'm going to earn a living or have a happy, healthy relationship with my family.
So I steal time. Early mornings, lunch breaks, other bits here and there. Never enough but enough to stop me feeling down about not doing anything. Enough to be happy that I get better with each picture I draw and each line I write.
Someone once asked me how I knew I was creative. I fumbled around the answer back then but now I know its because of this urge to make stuff. It doesn't matter if it's good or not - that after all is just a matter of opinion - just that you create.
Writers write. Illustrators draw. If you do fulfill your urge, then you can call yourself an artist.