When I was in high school, I had the bright idea that I could save a screenshot of a Winamp MilkDrop visualizer in progress, and post it to my DeviantArt account as if it were an abstract digital painting I made.
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| Not my "artwork", but a representative sample of MilkDrop's output. Abstract psychedelic colors and patterns. Via Xanthine Complex on Wikipedia. |
It was still early enough days on the internet that I thought someone might find this impressive–if they thought I made it–and I figured the odds of anyone recognizing it as MilkDrop were low. I gave it a pretentious title and wrote some bullshit in the description about what "the piece" "meant".
I don't know if anyone saw it, but the only people following me on DeviantArt were a couple of my friends. Not long after I uploaded it, I imagined how it might feel if one of my friends saw it and said something nice about it. I figured I'd feel pretty guilty, and embarrassed, and I'd probably feel compelled to come clean. So, I deleted it before that could happen.
The experience didn't inspire me to become an abstract digital painter for real, but I did eventually find my creative drive and start practicing in earnest. I'm interested in most kinds of art, but games and prose are what I have a bit of talent for, so that's where I've focused my efforts.
The result is that I've made some games, written a few stories, and authored a bunch of essays people have liked. I haven't become rich or famous, but I generally like myself and have a body of work I'm proud of, and mentally that's a pretty good place to be.
It didn't seem significant at the time, but when I think back on my brief career as a MilkDrop plagiarist, I realize I dodged a bullet. If I had allowed myself to believe that taking credit and being rewarded for something I didn't do is okay, I might never have made anything I can take pride in.
(Thanks to Ryan and his recollections of grade school tracing for inspiring this post.)