The Gap between loving stories and making them

There's an almost insatiable desire, in an artist before they break through, to keep making things — scripts, short films, stories — as if each one is a step closer to the spotlight. For the most part, this is true. But there's a trap inside it that nobody talks about: making stories isn't the same as loving them.

I know this, because I'm feeling this struggle right now. I have crafted a large spectrum of scripts and short films this year alone — but the truth is, I'm burnt out, and feeling less inspired than ever. I write some stuff with Keaton, my writing partner, and right now it feels like nails on a chalkboard. I'll make dates for myself to just write — and I end up deep diving into a niche topic I enjoy, or watch a game or four of the World Cup. At the end of the day, nothing is done, and I'm left feeling like, well, shit.

Then some weeks I'll lock in. I'll write two features in a month, a set of poems, and shoot a short film — all whilst feeling like all I am doing is not enough, like I could be doing more, with stronger energy, passion — which frankly also makes me feel like shit. After this ping pong of overexertion and underperformance, I found myself feeling more lost than ever before, so I had to sit with what was actually missing.

At first I felt that it stemmed from not being where I wanted to be at this age. Moving out to LA at nineteen, going to college and coming back at twenty-three, I feel like now, at twenty-four — I should be booking roles, writing scripts for networks and studios alike, and being at the top of my game. After all, I've been here for a year and a half, shouldn't I be more engaged with my career?

Only then I realized something I feel artists in the entertainment industry all face — that boulder that Sisyphus had to push…

their own passion.

Are you actively working on projects you love for the sake of art, or for the sake of building? It's a clear distinction, and most of us fail to recognize it. We split our attention between the want and the need, and it leads to dissatisfaction either way.

You can't always love what you do — but you can always walk in the direction your heart is. You can find, even in the story you're pulling teeth about, the one thing that gives you some form of freedom, and carry that feeling with you towards the rest of the project. There is a key to remember: passion gets you started. Discipline gets you finished. But passion determines which mountains of your creativity are worth climbing.

Don't be afraid to stop, take some time to live, and let an idea fester that your soul really wants to share. The best stories are often the ones that come back to us — after we've been thinking about them over and over again, throughout the years. Focus on these tales, because no matter how difficult you may feel when creating, these ones will carry your passion through.

I don't believe that making something simply to make something is ever going to play out how you might expect. While there is a benefit to getting work out there and putting in your hours to build a portfolio, you're better off with less material that sings than a sea of work that merely hums.

It also makes it easier to focus on your work when you delve with an interest, as compared to a quota. Hemingway put it well: "Always stop writing while the going is good and you still know what happens next."

When you approach your work from a place of genuine love, this feels almost predetermined. When you do stop for a moment, you can't help but have your subconscious continually work overtime — in a good way, as excitement continues to pour in whilst you're not actively working. When you come from the point of view of pure output, you dread the page or the shot — and crave the moment when your brain says cut.

It's this distinction that all artists should learn to realign with. Approach each of your stories with a yearning, an almost unquenchable thirst of passion that will help push you through the drought of your creation when it gets rough.

In the end, you're the artist — the driver of your fate. Make sure you listen to your heart as it tells you where to go. If you're one of the lucky ones who decides to follow it, and create your art through its motion — then you'll have found the key to sustainability.