Yeah, I learned to draw out of impatience.

One sunny day in April, it dawns on you that that all your resignations have been preceded by a stockpiling of art supplies and learn-to-draw-and-paint books. Strange, You wonder why. If you're going to resign a writing job, the logical stockpile would be pens, inkjet paper and Writer's Market books, right? But no. You maxed out my credit cards on brushes, paint, and watercolor paper. And, of course, art books.

After three such abrupt resignations, it begins to dawn on you that having no job rules out going to the movies everyday or shopping or even eating, anything that requires a cash outlay, and the stockpile of art supplies and 56 million notebooks start calling your name.

So you begin learning to draw. Little by little. You start by drawing the same pig statue in front of you everyday until you get sick of the damn pig. Then after that, the fishy. Then the dragon. Then flowers. Lots and lots of flowers because, hey, they're pretty! And easy! (Like some girls I know. )

Then one day you decide to draw yourself in the mirror and realize, "Hey! It actually looks like me! (But crankier.)" The real artists (read: the ones with talent, and therefore not insecure) try to teach you what they know. Give you pointers. Books. Tips. And you get better.

So you're drawing. You've lots of paper anyway. And art supplies. Are you any good? Who cares? You're drawing.