Wish [Harry] On Hold

24 | M o t i v a t i o n

[Dedicated to nightgate for the lovely fanart above! x]

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS AFTER New Year were insane - I was rushing to complete an art folio, things at work were busier than ever, Harry was getting swamped with later shifts and extra work - and on top of all that, my motivation was slowly disappearing.

Usually after work, I'd be straight to painting when I got in. Recently, tiredness consumed me every night, and I found myself sliding into laziness which had me really worried - what would Robert think if I were to turn up to his gallery with only a few minor paintings? All the talk Harry had spilled about my work would seem to be just that - talk, nothing more. Without actual art to back up his persuasive speech, everything would crash and burn.

In addition, I was scared that Robert wouldn't like my work enough to have it show cased. That thought made my stomach tighten into knots. It would be like a slap in the face, a punch to the gut. No doubt it would crush me and my ambition to become a famous artist.

However, I was a tough cookie and nothing was going to get in the way of my one chance at a break-through.

Except the fact that you are a lazy git who has been in bed all day, said the voice. 

I sighed, nodding to myself slowly. It was right - second Saturday into the New Year and I was lazing about with little time left to finish my work. It was exhausting both mentally and physically, and Harry seemed to have noticed too.

"You seem rather down lately," he'd mentioned over dinner the night previously.

I'd just shrugged off his assumption and told him that work was tiring me out - which it was - but deep down, it was truly the worry about being turned away that had me on edge. It wasn't healthy and I knew that, but somehow I just couldn't find it in me to put pen to paper and get on with what I was supposed to be doing.

Keep calm, Jane. Just keep yourself calm and you'll figure something out.

Soon, I found myself crawling out of bed and into my studio. The blank canvas in front of me almost seemed to resemble my mind - empty; empty of idea, colour and detail. It would most likely just sit there for another day as I procrastinated and waited for the motivation to hit me.

"Urgh," I groaned as I fiddled with my pencil. "What to draw," I muttered over and over until I felt a hand rest gently upon my shoulder.