Featured From the Archives: The Definition of Black Belt

May 23, 2014KWhipkey 2 Comments

It feels like I’ve done so many of these lately, but this will only be the fourth one ever. Still, I know you come here for new material, and I promise, I am working on that. (In fact, some of the observant out there may notice a new addition to the menu — Book Reviews. Check it out if you’re curious what I’ve got happening behind the scenes. 😉 ) But there’s a reason I decided to feature this post today. Tonight (right now, actually) is the annual WTSDA Region One Black Belt Test. And though I’m not there, I still want to acknowledge it. So this is my way of honoring those testing, of imparting the lessons I learned in my own journey. Yes, it is specifically geared toward martial artists, but give it a glance anyway — I think you might be surprised to find many of things apply to you whether or not you have ever trained.

The Definition of Black Belt

By Kisa Whipkey

(Originally Posted on 5/25/12)

I promised there would be posts about martial arts. And so far, I haven’t delivered. **2014 Note: Technically not true anymore. Disregard. There’s a whole slew of them in the index if you’re interested.** So, in honor of the annual WTSDA Region 1 Championship, (which I’m not attending for the first time in, well, ever! **2014 Note: Also untrue. I’ve now missed like three. And yes, that does make me a slacker. Thank you for noticing.**), I present my first post dedicated to the martial arts. But be warned, my opinions on this topic can be either melodramatic and preachy, or poetically accurate, depending on whether or not you agree with me.

Regardless of which side of the fence you land on after reading this, here’s my interpretation of . . .

What it means to be a black belt

A black belt is more than the strip of fabric around your waist.

It’s helping those close to you because they need it,
not because it boosts your ego.

It’s knowing when to pick your battles and when to walk away.

It’s the dignity you have in the face of adversity,
and the grace with which you take criticism.

It’s the humility you show others,
and the respect you give to the people and
places that offered you this gift.

It’s the wisdom to realize that it’s better to be selfless,
but the strength to stand up for your convictions.

It’s the integrity you put behind your promises,
and the obligation to teach those that follow in
your footsteps these same lessons.

It is an achievement to be worn proudly,
but it’s not the color of the fabric that makes you a black belt;
it’s the attitude you present to the world.

–Kisa Whipkey
(Originally Posted to Facebook on May 17, 2011)

Shame so many forget that, or never bothered to learn it at all. So often, you’ll run into martial artists whose sole reason for training seems to be bragging rights; they’ve taken all these different styles (and mastered none of them); they’ve beaten X number of opponents to a bloody pulp in cage fights (proving their ability to brawl like a school-yard bully); they’ve won X amount of awards and trophies (Fantastic! So they’re basically a mockingbird attracted by shinies?); and they’ve done absolutely nothing of value to anyone but themselves.

Does the definition of black belt really have to be limited to the physical ability to kick ass? I don’t think so. True, you should be able to defend yourself effectively — why else did you learn to fight? But that’s not the main definition of the rank. You don’t need skill to be a good fighter. Luck, maybe, but not skill. Some people are simply born with natural ability, and the advent of technology has ensured that the rest of us can survive with little to no physical skill involved. So why go through the process of earning a black belt? Investing 2-4 years of your life, sweating and screaming in some archaic form of military practice? Because there’s more to it than that.

Being a black belt is a lifestyle choice, like choosing to eat healthy and exercise, or choosing to believe in the power of religious faith. It’s not about bragging at all. It’s about honor, dignity, respect, discipline, and integrity. No one said that being a black belt was easy. In fact, it’s usually the opposite. The martial arts were originally intended for the elite, for the warriors who protected their country (like our soldiers today), and was not offered to anyone and everyone. Attaining black belt was a grueling process that required dedication, physical prowess, and spiritual development. Something that’s been sadly watered down over the centuries. But that doesn’t mean we have to let it slip away into the forgotten realms of ancient history. We can still embody everything the martial arts was supposed to represent, whether we’re training or not.

I’ve learned that people who take the philosophical meaning behind the martial arts seriously, exhibit subtle traits you learn to notice — it’s the way they walk or stand, the way they present themselves to the world, the way they interact with others. Allthose things are the marks of a true black belt. And they are only gained if the student is willing to pay attention. Each belt color represents a new set of techniques to be memorized, yes, but it also represents a new challenge that will refine their character if they let it. There are so many out there who only care about the fighting portion and completely look past the rest of it; becoming the black belts who puff themselves up with glorified victories, leaving nothing but an impression of arrogance and brutality as their legacy. Personally, I prefer meeting martial artists who are quietly proud and let their actions speak for themselves. Poise, respectfulness, and integrity are always more pleasant to encounter than arrogance, inflated egos, and superiority complexes. Don’t you think?

Simply put, the goal of the martial arts was (and is) to be the best person you could (can) be. Which is why the black belt spirit can be found even in those who have never trained. It’s in those who volunteer to help the homeless/disabled/elderly/anyone-who-needs-help. It’s in those that donate their fortunes to charities, enriching the lives of others while living modestly themselves. It’s in the teacher that goes above and beyond to help a troubled student reach graduation. And it’s in you whenever you choose to do the right thing instead of the easy one. Being a black belt is a commitment to values, whether you gained them from religion, martial arts, or simply had them imparted to you by your parents. You don’t have to wear a strip of fabric around your waist to be a black belt, you just have to be a good person who cares more for their family, community, or world than themselves. In my eyes, anyone fighting for a noble cause, who earns accolades with dignity and humility, or who presents themselves to their daily tasks of school, work, and socialization with integrity and respect is a black belt. An honorary one, anyway.

So the next time you run into a black belt/instructor who seems intent only on wowing you with their peacock display of achievements, smile and respectfully give them the ego boost they’re really seeking. Then walk away, safe in the comfort of knowing something they missed. That respect is never taken, it’s earned. And that strip of fabric around their waste doesn’t entitle them to it anymore than if they didn’t have it.

And to my fellow martial artists, please remember that being a black belt doesn’t end when you walk out the door of the studio. It’s a commitment that should reflect in every aspect of your life. Decide for yourself what black belt means and then embody that to the best of your ability. If you want respect, earn it. Don’t just do things to bask in the glory of a good deed.

That’s what it really means to be a black belt.

Blogiversary Link Round-up: Year 2

May 2, 2014May 2, 2014KWhipkey 4 Comments

Guess what? Today officially marks the initiation of Nightwolf’s Corner into the Terrible Twos! That’s right, two years ago today, I posted my first ever blog post. (Holy bejeesus, that’s a long time ago!) Things have changed a lot around here since that first step into the blogosphere — I reached 100 followers, and then passed 200 before I even knew it; I’ve featured guest posts and giveaways, and wrote my 100th blog post; you’ve watched me venture into the world of the professional editor and serialized fiction. But one thing hasn’t changed — me. I’m still the same aspiring author/starving artist who set out to provide a fun, sometimes informative, sometimes sarcastic look at all things creativity. It amazes me that there over 200 of you that care what I have to say. I’m humbled, and completely flattered, and I can’t even begin to tell you what that support means to me.

So, today, I say thanks. And look back at last year with a fond, misty-eyed moment of nostalgia (which may or may not also have to do with the fact that I just ate the last of my Cadbury mini-eggs for the year). Care to relive the glory (of the blog, not the mini-eggs, although they were epic) with me? (Good, because you really didn’t have a choice. 😉 )

Over the past year, I’ve written a grand total of 66,770 words for the blog. While my grand total in actual fiction is lurking somewhere in the 10,000 range. Good to know some things don’t change, right?

Surprisingly, my most popular post this year was How to Write Martial Arts Fight Scenes, while the least popular were Memorializing Firsts: A Celebration of Author Bridget Zinn, Channels of Distribution, The Devil’s in the Details, Plot Bunnies; Friend or Foe?, My Ode to Bose, Storytelling for Demo Teams, & Two Steps Closer Giveaway. Given how old some of those are, I’m thinking it may have had more to do with age, and not necessarily subject. (Perhaps a few will be featured in my new Featured From the Archives series . . .)

My name was the top Googled thing that led people to my little digital home, while Twitter holds the record for highest referrals. Elitism in the Arts, and funnily enough, considering its place in the least popular posts, The Devil’s in the Details received the most shares. (Hmm, maybe my stats aren’t all that accurate, after all.)

The title of Longest Post goes to Exploring the Subgenres of Science Fiction, and the shortest was Writing Workshop Alert: Have You Scene It? Not really surprising, since it was just an announcement.

This year featured a grand total of 9 Guest Posts (conveniently flagged in the Index as such) and brought you 3 new series: From the Editor’s Desk, Featured from the Archives, and Featured Art. Oh, and there was also that little opportunity to read Unmoving well before it’s finished. That was pretty cool, too. 😉

I even learned how to play with GIF’s this year — My Average Day as an Editor (In GIFs) — and interviewed two authors about their journeys to publication — A Double Dose of Awesome: Author Interview & Holiday Giveaway & Conquering the Publishing Divide: An Interview With Author Jessa Russo.

So, all in all, it was a pretty productive year.

But the reason most of you are here, I’m sure, is because today’s the day I announce the winners for not one, but TWO giveaways. (I may have been a little giveaway happy this year, too. But I don’t think you’ll complain. Right?)

Okay, I won’t leave you in suspense anymore. Here are the lucky people winning whatever it was they signed up for:

For the eBook of Divide by Jessa Russo, the winners are . . .

Kathleen P.

Courtney W.

Brock G.

And, because I received over 400 entries in my blog-birthday giveaway, the 5 lucky people walking away with their chosen book are . . .

Alexandra P.

Gabriela C.

Alexandra T.

Mandy S.

Tiffany T.

Congratulations to the winners, and a HUGE thank you to everyone who participated. I’ll be emailing the winners with information about their prizes over the next week.

That’s all I’ve got for today. But before I go, let’s raise a glass of something — water, soda, wine, or, in my case, energy drink — and have a toast: here’s to another year of snarky festivities, helpful information, and lots and lots of writing. Cheers!

My Average Day as an Editor (In GIFs)

April 18, 2014KWhipkey 10 Comments

There have been a lot of GIF posts about what the publishing or writing process is like, but I’ve never seen one for what it’s like on the other side of the fence. Until now. This week, I’m breaking the unspoken rule that writers are never allowed behind the publishing curtain and illustrating what my average day as an editor looks like. And, because I had a request for a post with GIFs, I’m going to use everyone’s favorite sarcastic medium (which means that any of you reading this via an email/mobile device may have to click through to the actual site to see them). Before we dive in, I do want to say that this is solely what my average day looks like — other editors will be slightly different. The moral of this story, though, is that editors need cheerleaders too. You’ll understand by the time we get to the end. Don’t worry. 😉

My Average Day as an Editor

The alarm goes off at 7:30 am and I’m all like:

and . . .

Okay, maybe that’s a lie. It’s actually a lot more like this:

But anyway, I’m up. I’m ready for the day. I’ve got all the things I need to do circling through my head, and I’m ready to tackle them all. Until . . .

louie

I remember that I have to go to work. Not editing work — work work. Because, you know, editing doesn’t pay as well as everyone thinks, and I still have to eat.

So, for the next five hours, I go punch the clock at the dreaded day job and secretly think to myself . . .

while outwardly doing this . . .

Meanwhile, my inbox is filling up. By the time I actually get to start my day as an editor, I have 64 new emails (that’s a light day). Of those, approximately 1/3 will be submissions, 1/3 will be about the various tasks I assist with at REUTS, and some days, as many as 1/3 are authors freaking out over something. Those days, I tend to open my inbox and immediately think . . .

See, contrary to popular belief, editors work on a lot of projects at once. And writers (yes, you) are a high maintenance bunch, prone to neurotic freak-outs and requiring constant reassurance.

That’s okay, though. We (as editors) understand, and we love you guys. Really, we do. But some days, you make us do this . . .

Anyway, I’m getting off topic. On those days where my inbox is full of people freaking out, I spend the next several hours holding their hands and providing reassurance. (See, the take away here, writers, is that every time you send one of those freak-out emails, the person on the other side loses valuable time they could have spent actually working on your project.)

**Note, I do not consider status requests and legitimate questions freak-out emails. Those are always welcomed and definitely allowed. 😉 **

By the time that’s done, it’s dinner time. But, before then, I’ll read through a couple of the submissions, which looks something like this:

Or . . .

Or sometimes even . . .

And occasionally this (if I’m the odd man out on the voting) . . .

Then it’s dinner time, and I step away from the computer for the first time all day.

By the time I get back, there’s at least one more freak-out email waiting not-so-patiently for me.

So, I deal with that one too (because I don’t like to leave anyone with more anxiety on their plate than necessary) and then finally, FINALLY, I get to edit. You know, that thing everyone thinks editors spend their days doing, but that we actually only get a few hours with. It’s a victorious moment when I finally get to this part of the day. Like . . .

Then, after investing several more solid hours into the thing I enjoy most, this happens . . .

So I . . .

and . . .

and the whole thing starts over.

And there you have it, my average day as an editor. Sounds like fun, right?

The point of this (besides getting to have way too much fun with GIFs) is to show you just how hectic an editor’s life can be. We’re not robots who sit and do nothing but edit 24/7. We’re people, with lives and jobs, families and human needs. So cut your editor some slack if they don’t get back to you immediately, or it’s taking longer than you expected to edit your manuscript. We’re not purposely doing these things to hurt you. Editing is a time intensive job, and to do it right, you have to invest that time. The argument I always tell myself when stress threatens to overwhelm me, or someone’s pushing me to meet deadlines that aren’t possible without giving up sleeping, eating, and everyday life, is this — would you rather it be done right? Or be done fast? It’s not a perfect world, and those two can’t coexist. Anyone who claims otherwise is lying. Trust me.

**A big thanks to www.reactiongifs.com for supplying all the GIFtastic fun. Be sure to check them out! Their database is phenomenal. :)**

Featured From the Archives: Why do you . . . (Insert Creative Verb Here)?

April 11, 2014April 11, 2014KWhipkey 6 Comments

As the 2nd year anniversary of my blogging experiment draws near, I realize I’ve reached the point where many of my followers probably haven’t read the older posts. So periodically, I’m going to feature one of those archived gems (which pretty much means I ran out of time and/or motivation that week) and give you a chance to discover them again. (Or, for the first time, as the case may be.)

Today’s feature is one that hopefully doesn’t offend too many people. But with all the various blog hops going around (like the ones I, myself, have participated in recently), and posts about what it means to be a (insert whatever creative term you were reading about), it seemed like the perfect time to showcase this again. (Plus, I’m feeling a tad under the weather, and my pesky muse decided to high-tail herself out of the plague zone. ) So, to kick off my new/old series, I present: Why Do You . . . (Insert Creative Verb Here)? A snarky, honest post about what we’re all really thinking when you ask us this. (Warning, contains tongue-in-cheek sarcasm and blunt reality. Read with your serious-meter on half.)

Oh! And don’t forget, I still have that fantabulous (yes, that’s a word. Shut it before I hurl this NyQuil bottle at your head) giveaway I’m running in honor of my upcoming blogiversary. I’ve already received over 300 entries, so three lucky people will be receiving the book they chose from the list. And if you’d like to make it four (and to see whether or not what I’m saying is a cold-med induced hallucination) click here!

Back to the post!

Why Do You . . . (Insert Creative Verb Here)?

By Kisa Whipkey

(Originally Posted on 5/11/12)

This is probably the most-asked question of creative people -– sometimes even by other creative people. And it’s one of the more irritating ones, because it’s such a hard thing to quantify. It’s like asking someone why their eyes are blue, or why they were born in the morning. How do you answer that? So, understandably, the answers to why someone’s creative vary wildly depending on the person. You’ll hear things like:

“I’m not sure, I just do.”

“Because it makes me happy.”

“Because it’s therapy for me; it helps me express myself.”

And my personal favorite, “I do it for me.”

Now, the truth is, all of these answers are sugar-coated, watered-down replies meant to make the artist look more artsy; to make the listener think, “ooo, aren’t they cool? They’re so mysterious and vague.” Personal satisfaction is great, but you go to the gym for personal satisfaction, you don’t pour weeks, months, years, heart and soul into a project just for personal satisfaction. I mean, don’t answers like that just seem so full of themselves? Why narcissism is encouraged within the arts is beyond me, but the more self-involved the answer, the more prestige points an artist receives. And the more frequently you’ll hear responses like the above.

Personally, I view every one of those answers as a cop-out. Because ultimately, statements like that are rarely true. And before you get up on your high horse and scream “controversy!” while flooding my comment box with all the reasons I’m wrong, hear me out. If creativity is such a personal thing (which I’m actually not arguing, because it is), why would anyone share its products? All those artists, authors, and musicians that claim they only create for themselves are lying. The proof is in the sheer fact that they made said creation available for public consumption. If it was truly just for them, it would be stashed in a vault somewhere, guarded by large, vicious dogs, and fiercely protected until its location was lost in the afterlife. Not put on public display for all to judge. But that’s not the case, is it? Because they shared their work with the world.

(The only exception may be personal diaries and journals, which are never truly intended to be shared, but in reality, are almost always found and read anyway.)

When I’m asked this question of why I (insert creative verb here), I have a generalized, self-important, prosaic answer that I’ll give. (Who doesn’t want to earn some prestige points?) I simply say that the reason I (chosen creative verb of the moment) is that I never realized not (doing said creative verb) was an option. And this is partly true. Creativity just came naturally. Like breathing. But just like the answers I listed above, that lovely little sound-bite, while somewhat accurate, is not the real motivator behind my masterpieces. (See? Don’t I just automatically sound more brilliant because I called them that?)

The brutal, honest truth is something none of us “Artistes” like to admit, because it makes us seem desperate and needy, and those two adjectives are a far cry from cool and mysterious. We don’t want to be put in the same category as your psycho ex that Facebook stalks you. But the reason all those artists, authors, and musicians refuse to admit, is that we create because we want validation. Public approval. Fame, glory, and all that jazz. Just like when we were little kids and we ran to Mommy looking for approval on our latest blob of mismatched crayon wax we were certain looked like the cat, we offer up the fruits of our labor to the public eye. With the sole intent of being lavished in praise for our awesomeness.

When you think about it, it’s not really that hard to see why this is the real motivator behind creativity. It’s the same reason we post status updates several times a day and then check back obsessively, waiting for those little thumbs-up signs to appear that means someone likes us, someone agreed. We’re cool. It’s human nature to seek praise from those around us; it makes us feel good, worthwhile, valued. Does that mean all artists are shallow, attention-seeking ho-bags? No. Do we all secretly want to preen while you sing our praises and tell us how awesome we are, so we can humbly pretend we didn’t already know that? You betcha.

Ultimately, though, it’s receiving feedback of any kind (although preferably of the worship-my-brilliance variety) that motivates us to hit that upload button, to submit that manuscript, or to step out on that stage. It’s often said that creativity doesn’t happen in a vacuum. And I 100% agree. Without that input from others, your creative side will shrivel and die like a thirsty plant locked in a closet. Which is why, whenever someone answers with the angelically selfish response of , “I (whatever) for me,” I find myself annoyed. Why is it OK to feed your narcissistic ego by pretending that success means nothing to you and you don’t care what anyone else thinks, but not OK to admit the truth? You did it for the same reason I do –- to feel good when others tell you your creation is something wonderful.

And for those out there that feel this question, this “Why do you . . . (insert creative verb here)?” is a perfectly legitimate conversation starter, it’s really not. You’re just going to be lied to. Few of us will man up and admit, “I did it to be rich and famous. Duh.” You’re much better off asking questions that actually have quantifiable answers. Ask why we do things a certain way, or what did we mean with X, instead of something as innocuous as why do you create?

Hey, nobody said honesty always had to be pretty. And I did warn you that snarky rants were a definite possibility. But let the barrage of offended comments commence anyway. 😉

Elitism in the Arts

March 28, 2014KWhipkey 20 Comments

This is a post I’ve dreaded writing, because in order to do so, I have to relive some painful memories. But I feel like this is a message that needs to be said. And so, though it comes from a negative part of my life, I’ll try my best to keep it positive. First, some raw honesty:

Throughout my creative journey, I’ve tried many different branches. And I’ve felt like an outsider every time. The writing community has been welcoming, but recently, I realized that the literary one is a completely different beast, and that I will once again be facing down the enemy of being different. This isn’t a battle that’s new to me, though. In art, I was ostracized for being too commercial. In the Martial Arts, I wasn’t traditional enough. And in writing, I’m not literary, coming from a film background rather than one in English. But, you see, the problem isn’t me. Those are all things I’ve been told, things that have created scars I’ll never fully erase. They’re not the product of a lack of ability, or talent. No, they’re the product of a phenomenon that should never exist — elitism.

People hold the arts up as this ideal place for individuality, where you’ll be free to express yourself without fear of judgement and prejudice. But those people are wrong. Rooted in subjectivity, the arts are actually worse than other industries. Instead of embracing the different, the weird, the innovative, they shun it, viciously tearing down anyone who dares to try something new, or becomes too popular. And who can blame them? People who do things differently risk the status quo. And we can’t have that. (Even though that’s the motto flying on our brilliantly-colored flag of creativity.)

Humans are pack animals, no matter what we’re led to believe. And nowhere do you see that penchant for cliques more prominent than in the arts.

I came face to face with it for the first time in college. (Now, you should know that I went to college at the ripe age of 16, so I was still highly impressionable.) There I was, testing my wings for the first time in what I thought was a safe environment to do so. College is all about experimenting, right? Finding one’s self, and blah blah blah. Well, I had the good fortune to find a college professor whose close-minded bullying nearly had me hanging up my pencils for good.

I don’t know the story behind what was happening in that woman’s life, but that also shouldn’t matter. She was an educator, someone entrusted to help mold the minds of our youth. And she abused that power. I was stuck with her for three classes that semester — color theory, figure drawing, and beginning painting. Things started off great. I’d never been exposed to formal art classes, so I was a sponge, putting my best into every assignment. (I’m also a perfectionist with a compulsive need to get A’s, so you can connect the dots on my level of participation.) She seemed to like me, and I did well in all three classes. Until one day, about halfway through the semester, when she asked me the fated question I would learn never to answer honestly — what kind of artist do you want to be? Stupid me, I told her the truth:

“I want to be an animator,” I said, not realizing that word was akin to the most vulgar thing in the dictionary.

She looked like I’d spat in her drink. She backed away from me, a completely disgusted look on her face, mumbled something snide and walked away. After that, my grades plummeted, she wouldn’t call on me during class, and it was like I didn’t exist. But the kicker was the final project for the painting class. The assignment was to create an abstract painting that had no clear top or bottom. I’d never done abstract before, but I did my best, following the assignment to the letter.

Like all teenagers, I was battling some emotional instability, so I tried to capture that turmoil in paint. Doesn’t get more “tortured artist” than that, right? Well, when it came time for the final critique, this woman took my painting to the front of the class, turned it on its side and said, “Oh my God, where’s Bambi?” (Yes, that’s a direct quote.) I’ve never seen a room full of young people so silent. I swear, they all stopped breathing, staring at me with wide eyes as this teacher continued to ridicule me in front of them all, informing me I had failed because clearly, I had portrayed a forest fire.

I left that class in tears, dropped out of school and gave up on art for the next five years. All because I’d made the mistake of uttering the “A” word.

That’s not the only time I’ve run into that kind of elitist attitude either. Over the years, I’ve been accused of plagiarism (because I happened to write a sci-fi story that featured a weapon mildly resembling a light saber), told I wasn’t good enough to amount to anything, and been patronized because I don’t do things by the majority norm. And I know I’m not alone. These kinds of experiences are par for the course in the arts.

You want to be a singer? Too bad, you suck.

You want to paint? Well, you’re not Van Gogh, so you may as well give up.

You want to be published? Every door will be slammed in your face.

Overcoming adversity is the very definition of being an artist. But it doesn’t have to be that way. So what if someone wants to play the violin with their toes. Or paints murals on street signs. Or writes something a little rough around the edges. It doesn’t make them any less of an artist. The different creative communities claim to be so welcoming and open-minded, but instead, offer only elitism and rejection. If you’re not the alpha of the pack, then you’re the scapegoat. Or worse, lost somewhere in the middle, amongst a sea of sheep.

What’s the point to all this? Simple — don’t let yourself fall prey to elitism. Words have power, whether they be said in jest or seriousness. And that power lasts. To those of us in a position of authority (agents, editors, publishers, teachers, etc.) I implore you to think about what your rejections do to the people who receive them. So it wasn’t your cup of tea. That’s fine, but be nice about it. There must be something good you can give them, some piece of encouragement and/or advice. There’s no reason to get up on a high horse and strip them of their dignity. It’s our job to be the mentors, to help people achieve their creative dreams. Falling into the pack mentality is easy to do, but if we all try a little harder to remember our humanity, and not our need to feel important, we can eliminate experiences like those I went through.

And for those of you who have suffered, or are suffering, under the sword of elitism, keep your head up. Just because one person says you can’t, does not mean you can’t. It took me a long time to get over what that painting teacher said, and I would have destroyed the piece if my mom hadn’t saved it. But I’m glad she did, because I no longer see the emotional turmoil it represented. I see a fire-breathing dragon. It’s a reminder of what I’ve overcome, and that it’s okay to fight for your dreams. So remember, as the great Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” We all have a choice. We can become victims, or we can become dragons. I chose to be a dragon, to fight back against elitism and approach my creativity with strength and resolution. Which will you be?

Abstract Painting