I never read books like this (even though I probably should), but Nathan just finished it and said that I might like it so here we are. I have to be honest, though. Generally speaking I fucking hate self-help books. Not because I think I can’t benefit from them, it’s not that at all - it’s moreso the tone I can become increasingly annoyed at. This one seemed a bit different though in that it’s basically about how self-doubt is the devil and you must endlessly try and try again if you believe that you have something to share with the world. It’s obviously a great message and a good book if you’ve ever had difficulty with actually accomplishing any creative endeavor.

Best parts ahead.

“It is a commonplace among artists and children at play that they’re not aware of time or solitude while they’re chasing their vision. The hours fly. The sculptress and tree-climbing tyke both look up blinking when Mom calls, “Suppertime!””
“To labor in the arts for any reason other than love is prostitution.”
“Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It’s a gift to the world and every being in it. Don’t cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you’ve got.”

Super short book, super short review.