Real Creativity and the Pains of Fantasy Withdrawal

There’s this thing I feel the need to tell you about. It’s something you’ll have to endure if you wish to create something, and I want you to be aware of it so you won’t get discouraged. I call it fantasy withdrawal.

The Thing in Your Head is Perfect

You see, before you begin the work of turning an idea into a reality, you have this fantasy. In your mind, the thing you’re thinking of creating is perfect. It might be vague and fuzzy, but you’re pretty sure it’s brilliant, and it’s totally free of blemishes.

You imagine that it contains no crooked lines, no convoluted paragraphs, no unforeseen complications. Everything’s so smooth and shiny and low in fat.

The Thing in Reality is Not

But then you begin. You write the first draft, you draw the first sketch, you shoot the initial footage and realize it’s not the way you imagined it. It’s imperfect.

Moving forward, you realize, will mean moving further and further from the fantasy you’ve fallen so deeply in love with. You feel the pains of separation and you’re tempted to turn back and run to that safe, warm place where you and your idea first met: the space between your ears.

Everything was so wonderful there. You and your fantasy danced and laughed and never stumbled. But the thing you’re actually creating isn’t like that at all. It has missing appendages and it’s awkward and clunky. And it needs so much work.

It’s painful. I know.

The Rough, Rough Edges of a Rough Draft

Right now, I’m trying to turn all this mildly creative stuff into a book and it’s nothing like I imagined. It lacks the stories and references I intended to include. I’ve had to put off drawing the illustrations I imagined because going back and forth between writing and drawing was driving me a little mad.

It’s in terrible need of a good polishing, but I don’t have the time right now; I’m too busy moving forward. I have to move forward in order to get the main ideas in writing so I have something to work with. I have to go through fantasy withdrawal. You will too, if you want to create something of your own.

The Agony and the Reality

But here’s the good news. The thing you end up creating is going to be infinitely better than the one you’ve been fantasizing about for one simple reason. It will be real.

It will exist. It will be tangible. You’ll be able to hold it in your hands, see it with your eyes, or hear it with your ears, and that means you’ll be able to make it better. And eventually, you’ll be able to share it with others, which is something you could never do with a mere fantasy.

The pains of imperfection may never completely go away, but they will diminish, especially when confronted by the joys of real accomplishment.

So now that you’re aware, let me encourage you to go through the withdrawal and come out the other side an artist.

A Kind of Withdrawal You Don’t Have to Endure

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