The Fear of Starting Something New

And Starting Over (Plus Introductions To This Newsletter)

March 2025

The fear of starting something new.

It sits heavy in your stomach like an anchor trying to keep you from moving. Its arms wrapped around the stone behind you where the waters are safe and known. It’s the worry of failing before you ever begin, and all the ways your creative mind finds to fill the unknown ahead with the worst possibilities.

I’ll talk more about this in the section below called Soul Forge, but for now I think some introductions are in order.

This is the first letter in something new after all. The first small steps after loosing my own worried anchor and letting this voyage take its first breath of new winds. One thing I’m sure you’ve learned about me already is that I like metaphor and similes—to paint pictures in your head with words instead of pigment. It’s why art and writing have both called to me since the beginning. They’re both storytelling.

That’s part of what this newsletter will be each month—a place to speak on art and writing, the projects I’m working on, and whatever other crafts may find their way. There will be no pressure here, no constant badgering to buy this thing or another. I’ll make small mention here and there of any art I might have for sale and a brief offer to support my work if you wish at the end, but that’s not the purpose of these letters. This isn’t a marketing scheme or a false promise that I have all the answers to make you into a great artist or writer so long as you buy some course. These are simply letters and words from a new friend, with musings on life and art and writing that I hope will resonate and find a place to nestle into your soul.

So, settle in with a warm drink and let’s get to know each other.

This is where in future letters I will talk about some of the things that have happened in my life over the past month. But seeing as this is the first, a brief introduction feels the best way to start.

I’m C. Maine, a name you’ve definitely never heard of. My books aren’t lining the shelves of your local bookstore and my art isn’t hanging in galleries, but I create both and then some.

I work in both traditional and digital art mediums, some of which you’ll see in these letters. I also write fiction—primarily fantasy so far—and spend a great deal of time crafting other worlds. Only one book has been published as of yet (Dark Waters, the eBook which I offered in my welcome email) but there are many more worlds and stories I’ve yet to release.

Most of my life has been dedicated to opening gates into new worlds be it through art or writing, always surrounding myself with story. There isn't a day I can remember that didn't involve drawing in childhood, and even then I was writing many little stories whenever I could. I lost sight of both art and writing throughout various periods of my life, but these are things that never truly left and eventually became even more important later on.

Not long after university, I was diagnosed with a chronic illness that has since changed the course of my life greatly. Every day is unpredictable and nothing is as it was. So, with nothing left to lose, I focused on building my creative career while managing this illness. I've since picked up many new hobbies and crafts, always wanting to try something new, but art and writing have always been the core of it all. Storytelling forever at the heart.

And though I’ve not yet found my stride in the creative field and haven’t broken out by any means, it’s the story that keeps me going. Everyone has something their soul clings to, holding on desperately to that thread with the knowledge that without it their life would unravel and become far less. This is my something.

I’d love to hear about yours if you’ve found it or even if you’re still seeking your something. Feel free to message me, I read every single one.

Beyond this, I’m an avid reader, a D&D player, occasional Dungeon Master, and constant hobbyist. I also have a little schnauzer who is both my manager and support staff. She's given plenty of treats and walks and always takes it upon her little fuzzy self to make sure I don’t overdo myself each day.

So that’s me and that’s more than enough of that for now. Let’s get back to the fear of starting something new.

I described fear as an anchor, one that holds you back and keeps you in the place where things are known and safe. This is what it has always felt like to me, especially since I got sick. It’s a tether grasping desperately onto the past, the known. If I try to take a step forward, it tugs me back, each link in the chain a warning of “what ifs”.

This anchor isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Fear exists because your mind is trying to keep you safe. It warns of potential danger ahead—likely because of past danger—and attempts to convince you to remain where things are known, where you won’t be harmed. But that’s all it is. A warning. The anchor wedged into the stones of your past and present is entirely within your control and you can decide if what’s ahead is worth trying anyways. It may not always feel like it and it may not be easy, but you’re the one who can pick up that anchor of fear and try anyways.

This is something I’ve had to do many times.

Starting over is not something I thought I’d have to do quite so many times in my life. The youthful idea that everything is progress and ground can never be lost until one day it suddenly is. Something unexpected happens and the stability breaks beneath your feet leaving you suddenly very aware of how delicate the balance of your life truly is.

I did this with my health, friendships, and multiple homes. With a college degree that went nowhere, a novel that got buried, a shop without supporters, a Patreon with one temporary patron, with art after burnout (still working on that), with moving social platforms with none to follow. And now here with this newsletter and only a very small handful of family to read it.

I never realized how often a person can find themselves back at zero. But I’m still trying.

The fear anchor holds on a bit deeper and longer each time. After all these “new starts” I can’t really blame it for clinging on to what it can. It’s a warning and reminder of all lost before, but it will hold you back if you let it. And I’ve definitely let it here and there.

Yet it can become irrational, especially if you give it too much voice. Have you ever stared at a blank page only to have your mind flood with worries of not being able to fill it? That despite all you’ve created in the past, you’ve now suddenly somehow lost all skill and you’ll never be able to do it again?

I have this with every new piece of art and writing. The blank page is the most intimidating part of the entire process. The beginning when there is nothing tangible and where all your ideas are simply that—ideas. This unreasonable voice tells you you’ve lost the ability to make them real or that the end result will be nothing more than another failure on your list.

The only way to stop those thoughts is to go through them. Your mind can absolutely stop you from creating before you’ve even begun and it may continue to haunt you even throughout the process each time it gets a little difficult. But the only way past is through—stealing the voice’s power not with thoughts, but with work. Proving it wrong with each line.

It’s the same with all new starts. You have to listen to the anchor trying to keep you back, acknowledge the possibilities and unknowns, then pick it up anyways saying “yes, but we can’t stay here.”

This newsletter isn’t the only new thing I’ve been working on (though it has taken up quite a bit of creative time). This month I decided to try gouache for the first time. Typically when I work with traditional mediums, it’s been pencil graphite, ink, or watercolor—all of which have their own quirks to learn. Adding gouache to the tool belt required learning some new tricks through trial and error.

The fear anchor was right there at the start of the blank page telling me I would mess up, that I’d waste the expensive paint, that the final image would be terrible. So I took small steps to press through it.

• First I made some quick thumbnail sketches, then set it aside.

  

  Incase you don’t know, thumbnails are very tiny sketches to get the layout and base idea down without having to think of details. It’s the first impression and the big picture even though these sketches are only about 2in max

• I put the sketchbook on my desk next and cleared the other stuff off

• Then I set up the work area with paints and brushes, making it clear to my brain that this is what I’m working on next, doubts or not (and there were a lot of doubts)

• Then I stepped away and did some reading to let the idea settle that yes, this is happening whether you’re terrible at it or not

• Next was sketching the light under-sketch—my guidelines for the painting which are the larger version of the chosen thumbnail sketch

  

• Kinda panicked next thinking about color mixing with a limited palette and how I have absolutely no idea how to do that at all and thinking about all the paint I would waste trying to make a color when I don’t know much about color theory

• Watched some videos to help, learned some things that definitely would have been mistakes if I’d jumped right in

• Decided to create a digital mockup so I’d have colors to aim for when mixing paint

  

  Digital mockup with color goals

• Stared longingly at the sketch I was pretty sure I was going to lose under the paint

• Finally put the paint on the palette and covered the paper in a single color (the underpainting) and realized that yes, the sketch is definitely going to be lost

  

  This is the underpainting

• The nagging little voice in your head that tells you this is something you aren’t capable of doing paid a visit and I told it nothing in return

• Instead, I picked a small manageable area to focus on and started painting and became very thankful when I realized how forgiving gouache can be to mistakes (just wait for it to dry and paint over it) because of course the first time something is done there’s going to be mistakes.

• Told the voice to shut up Ignored the voice again and picked the next small area to try—did better this time.

• I continued toward in small steps to keep from wasting paint and to keep myself moving forward—taking breaks as needed—instead of pressing through and getting frustrated and allowing that negative voice to gain power by being right.

  

  This is the Ugly Middle where I always wonder what in the world I’ve gotten myself into this time and if I can possibly make this look even remotely decent nevertheless good. It’s the moment when a lot of people walk away and give up.

• The ugly middle stage when the possibility of the beginning is gone and the vision of the end is far from sight was the hardest point, but I kept the steps small, kept the areas of focus narrowed and pressed through.

• Made it to the point where I’m finally able to think, “okay, maybe I can do this.”

• There were many places where I had to repaint over mistakes, remix colors because I chose the wrong paint combination, and plenty of times when I had to stop and step away before the discouragement overcame the motivation.

• I’m not sure how many hours were spent overall, but I know it took a few days of stealing a couple hours here and there to finally finish.

• And no matter how many times I stepped away, in the end, I always came back and I kept pressing through.

  

  The finished painting

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I also want to provide a quick recap of the art I’ve posted this year so far—some of it older, some of it new. In the next newsletter, I’ll only give a recap of the art I posted in that month, but since I’m starting this first letter in March, we’ve got 3 months to cover!

You can view all of these and more on my socials which contains a write up for each one. Maybe give them a little love and support if you particularly enjoy any of them.

This is where I’ll talk about some of the ways I’m “filling my creative well” as author V. E. Schwab once said. The place where I give a glimpse of what I’m reading, watching, listening to, or being inspired by with other creators from all fields. If I can get some collaborations and shout outs in the future, I will. But for now, I’ll simply keep this section short.

Reading

This month, I’ve taken a step back in time with my reading to when I was a grade schooler and fascinated with dragons. I first read the nearly 500 page Eragon by Christopher Paolini when most kids were still coming to terms with their weekly vocabulary list and struggling to sit still for three straight hours before the recess bell sounded. I finished this book with a wondrous craze only to find that the second book wasn’t to be released for a few more years. Unfortunately that meant I never kept up with the Inheritance Series, but I’ve decided to go back now and read them all.

So far I’ve read through Eragon and have nearly finished Eldest. I can see how 9 or 10 year old me devoured this tale and thought it the epitome of high fantasy. And I can see how it influenced some of my early writing. But time is a curious thing that seems to shrink when you look back and rereading this story, I’ve found that it no longer fits. The book is like a favorite shirt from years before yet now the sleeves are a little too short and the shoulders a bit too tight. You can squeeze into it if you really want to, but you’ll feel every pinch and limit. I’ve outgrown something that once wore well—watched as words that once held my imagination captive now fall short of the depth I’ve since discovered.

It’s still a decent story and I’m going to continue reading the series as a debt owed to younger me. But it’s a strange mixed feeling of bittersweet nostalgia and relief when something that fits within your memory no longer belongs in the present. That the world of before that seemed so big is now a size too small and I can touch the walls that once felt like skies. It means I’ve grown.

This passage found in Eldest by Christopher Paolini really resonates with genAI "art" (I’ll never consider it actual art) and writing today.

When you can have the end without the effort, what meaning does it have? You missed the journey, the struggle, the triumph. You learned nothing & earned nothing. You missed the moment to grow.

Listening

As for music, I discovered the new single from Tommee Profitt and Sam Tinnesz called “Garden”. There’s something about that rhythm that’s been a great source of focus while doing painting or writing.

I love songs that are stories. “Garden” has this dangerous feel to it, like everything is changing and crashing around you. The floor you stood upon is crumbling and now you must run, run, run to find a new safe, a new home. The panting in the background of a breathless runner striving for each next step before it is stolen away by the breaking world.

Watching

There’s only one real series that has absolutely captured me this year and that’s Arcane. I adore this show. The artistry, the storytelling, the music, and animation. Everything is a story and it hits you like a sledgehammer to the chest. Sometimes while watching I realized I wasn’t breathing, the narrative and imagery were so strong it stole away all else. This is the power of artists uniting. When art, music, story, and animation, all combine to create a masterpiece. It’s so evident how much the creators love every character and every story. You can watch both season 1 and 2 on Netflix.

Other Entertainment

I’ve not done much by way of gaming this month, but I did enjoy my first play through of Dragon Age: The Veilguard. And have my sights set on Avatar: The Frontiers of Pandora next. Dragon Age in particular has been my siren from the start. I’ve played every single game multiple times and never grow tired of it.

I also found a substack article by Jon Soto that is really well written. It speaks of “The Death of Who You Could Have Been” (its title) and really captured a moment in my past I needed to come to terms with.

I’m not going to highlight or post much in this section very often, but this is where I’ll give some shop updates if I have new items for sale or if I have any art for purchase (originals or prints).

This month, I do happen to have some new things up. There’s some papercraft minis for sale (all original, one of a kind, and hand cut). Each piece is cut by hand with a sharp blade from several layers of paper. It is then assembled and pressed within the frame to give a slight sense of depth. Each of these mini artworks is an original one of a kind, all hand signed, and numbered on the back.

If you’d like one before they’re gone, feel free to message me for details or visit my shop.

Original one of a kind hand cut papercraft for sale

I also released a few new art prints. Painted digitally over several hours with absolutely NO AI involved at any point of the process, each of these prints is printed with a high quality inkjet printer on metallic luster paper. Every print is hand signed and numbered, sold only directly by me (the artist).

New art prints available for sale in my shop

If you’d ever like me to talk more about any art you see or any kind of process (like papercraft) let me know and I can cover it in a future letter.

Before we wind down and say our goodbyes for now, I want to end my letters with something that can be shared. Something that keeps us connected and builds a better relationship. I want to get to know you the same way you’ll be getting to know me.

You can easily reply to my letters like you would any email and it will go straight to my inbox. I read every single one and might even get back to you or feature your request or question in my next letter!

So for this first shared moment, let me know any book recommendations.

I mentioned I’m working through Cristopher Paolini’s Inheritance Series up in the Inspiration section, but I’m always looking for new titles to add to my TBR (to be read) list.

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Thanks for coming along with me on this maiden voyage of new starts and first steps. I hope you’ve enjoyed our time together, maybe even taken a pause from the busy chaos that seems to be life and found a brief breath in these words. I’ll write again next month, but for now I’ve got a little pup anxiously waiting for some attention and for her human to leave the clicking keyboard for another day.

Until next time,

-C.