I Find Only (Creative) Dissatisfaction

This is not a Thanksgiving post. I just happened to be writing it at Thanksgiving. 

I do love traditions like Thanksgiving, and I’m both proud and happy to be American. Sometimes, though,  the weight of our shared cultural history, along with consumerism’s expectations, is a bit heavy.

That unease we are all feeling with the way things are going is indicative of how I’m feeling right now. Unease isn’t right, few of us are satisfied with everything right now.

I guess the best way to describe my mood is — dissatisfied. 

I’m not happy with running through traditions for the simple fact they are traditional. 

I’m certainly self-obsessed with improving how my drawings are turning out. 

And the games I am developing are sometimes feeling more like a chore to complete. 

And, of course, I’m dissatisfied with my life. But who isn’t, amiright? 

These feelings extend to this blog, too. I was re-reading my past posts earlier today. 

Boring! Does anyone read this shit? I want to redo the whole thing.

(By the way, if you’re still reading, Hi!  Better, huh?)

Admittedly, I’ve been using ChatGPT to sanitize them in an attempt to make them perfect for SEO purposes, but that just resulted in the past blogs lacking my real voice. 

That changes now. 

This post, I’m going to just type out what I’m thinking, exactly as I’d say it.

(Minus the occasional stutters and the “uh” and “um” sprinkled in.)

What I’m thinking is I’m just dissatisfied enough with everything I’m doing it’s driving me to try harder.

And I have some real thoughts to share about being dissatisfied.

Dissatisfaction #1 — Mortality and Honesty

I found out this morning one of my favorite college teachers passed away last year. He was 80 years old. He was 45 when I met him.

I haven't fully processed yet. It’s not like I’ve had any contact with him in over two decades, but he represented a pivotal moment in my life, and was a critical influence. 

Knowing he’s gone still hurts. A lot.

Joe Hannibal. 

In the painting room we just called him Joe. The design students called him Professor Hannibal.

I learned a lot from him, probably most of how I look at art and design, in fact. He made a deep impression on my life and career. 

He taught me what a critique is all about. “It’s not about you,” he’d say,” and what you like or dislike.” 

He’d excoriate and berate anyone daring to use the words “like” or “love” when critiquing a painting. He didn’t want to hear about our preferences.

Instead, it was about what worked and didn’t work. What was successful and what could be improved. Was the work static, or did it have movement? What did it say about what the artist was thinking and trying to say.

And God have mercy on those who came in with a painting with a bulls-eye composition. Ouch!

Joe was brutally honest with his critiques.

He scared away anyone who didn’t know how to handle this sort of tough love, but those of us who became painting room loyalists loved it. We craved having him tell us what was wrong with us.

To this day I do not fear any critique of my work. I know what I’m doing because Joe showed me how to look at the work I create.

He showed me how to be honest with myself, and I’ll never forget that.

I am thankful for having met and worked with Joe. Thinking about him today made me be honest with myself about why I’m feeling dissatisfied.

If Joe were here next to me, he’d just shake his head and tell me to stop bellyaching and just do the best I can. I’m no Michaelangelo and never will be, so I should just get over myself and be who I am.

Thanks, Joe.

Joseph Harry Hannibal peacefully left this world surrounded by his friends and family on the night of October 13, 2024. Born on May 4, 1945 in New York City to Mayme Anderson Hannibal and Harry Hannibal.

Joe's unwavering commitment to the arts and education was truly inspiring. A proud graduate of Berry Academy, Hiawassee College, Austin Peay University, and earning his final PhD and MFA from the university of Tennessee.

View Memoriam ››

Dissatisfaction #2 — Work and Management

After school, life happened. Dissatisfaction pushed me up the career ladder, driving for the elusive Art Director title, then Vice President.

But in that pursuit, I’ve not been happy with the paths I took for quite a while.

Back in the corporate world, before I got laid off at the ripe old age of 50, I was feeling lost.  

I was crushed under gigantic egos and incompetent management, brought on, in no small part, by my own lack of faith in myself.

I was a doer, one of the people who just does the work, and usually liked it. I was not one of the people who talked upward all the time so they could claim ownership of our successes. Those people we call managers.

I held myself back by not expressing my knowledge and perspective. Rather than lead, I enjoyed being directed, not aware of my building disenchantment with the situation that was growing within me.

Once freed from that oppression, I felt I needed a reset of sorts, so I sought new tools by getting my Master’s degree. This only emphasized how little happiness I found in my career. 

I became even more aware of how much I didn’t want to be managed or limited.

So, I started Average Joe Hero and started making games for myself. In my first year as a game designer I’ve conceptualized eight different games, with three being completed.

For the first time, possibly ever, I made things for myself, the way I wanted them to be. It felt good.

But I’m not happy yet. 

Dissatisfaction #3 — Pauses and Complications

Back in June of this year, I was feeling it, dissatisfied with where my games were going.  I needed inspiration, so I planned out and started my first two-week design challenge.

I gave myself a time-bound task and challenged myself to be as creative as I could be within that period of time, and within the framework I established for the project. 

Then, at the beginning of July, my wife went into the hospital, and stayed there for an extended period of time. It was both sudden and somewhat expected, her condition having finally caught up with her.

Few things completely throw off your progress and schedule more than worrying about the most important person in your life. 

Spending literal months being present and attentive to help them recover is a special kind of distraction. Everything else grows pale in importance.

Trying to be creative in a hospital is a struggle like none I have experienced. And I wasn’t even the one recovering!

Still, I pushed through and came up with the concept for the card game Bar Codes while daily supporting her at the side of her hospital bed.

It took me a month and a half to accomplish what I had planned two weeks to achieve. I put that project aside finally, despite not being too happy with what I’d created. The environment, I told myself, limited my creativity.

I’m not certain that’s entirely true.

At the time, I wanted to move on to other games concepts and social media posts, but that game still nagged at me about how much better it could be.

Last week, I started a new two week design challenge, this time oriented around seeing if ChatGPT can create a game.

This morning, though, I took a step back, thinking about Joe. 

I remember him telling me to stop being scared of failing, that I’ll never learn anything unless I finish something and understand what went wrong.

I used to do that with paintings, I would move on to a new canvas when the last was half done, and he called me out for doing it. 

And he was right.

I have started several projects since I launched Average Joe Hero, and I  have planned out many more, but I’ve not really completed as many as I’d like.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dissatisfied with my progress in producing quality, fun games, and with my tendency to not finish things properly. 

It’s time to learn from what I’ve done by finishing what I haven’t completed yet.

So Many Dissatisfactions

• I am two-thirds of the way through Inktober 2025 prompts, despite it being the end of November. I need to finish them, and I’m dissatisfied with what I’ve produced so far. My drawings aren’t bad, but I’m pushing myself to produce better and better work.

• At my wife’s behest, I began the design process on Bar Codes. I’m confronting my fear that I failed this project, that it won’t be any good. I won’t know that, though, until it’s done.

• I’m getting feedback on FlexField, the ChatGPT game. It’s moving forward, but I’m seeing there are ways I could have expanded the scope more.

• I began coding my blend of Conway’s Game of Life and Tic-Tac-Toe, my first true online game. We’ll see, but it feels like it’s going okay. It’s more satisfying to be sure.

• I’m itching to start a personality quiz game concept that might lead to survey panel concepts, but that, too, is early in the concept process to tell if it’s going to go anywhere or not. 

I’m not satisfied with where I’m at on any of these projects, but it’s making me impatient. 

I want to do more, and I believe I am ready.

The Discipline to Control Dissatisfaction

As this year comes to an end,  I am now hearing Joe’s comments again. 

I need to stop running away from projects because they aren’t working out perfectly. 

Perfect is in my head.

I am going to tie this year’s work up, and learn what I could have done better so next year will be even stronger.

I will plan what I really need to work on for next year, and start creating something that really tests my skills.

Dissatisfaction like this, at times like this, is what’s needed to move on, but only when managed with a disciplined attitude. 

These feelings of dissatisfaction are good. I can use them to motivate me to do more next year.

For example, to create an online community game that bridges digital and real worlds, perhaps using the card game genre I have mastered creating this year. 

Or by building a narrative world where the players not only engage with and play in the game, but become part of the entire game in a very real sense.

These are not small projects, but I’ve grown past small projects. I’m dissatisfied with them.

And I want to connect with you more, too. Creating is great, but sharing is why it matters.

Next year, we can seek satisfaction. Together.