Already, I have broken my own rule of writing once a day. Bad, so very bad. But to be fair, this is my last term. And this one will test all of my patience, adoration, strength, and most of all: endurance. Since it is currently 2am, and I am writing both this post and a response essay for a class, it’s easy to say that maybe I need to reevaluate my time.
I have finished, just now, The Lover’s Dictionary, a truly revolutionary novel. A novel novel? Having run the gamut of emotions recently (probably every day, in all actuality), I cannot say much but that this book is wonderful. It is literally, and figuratively, an A to Z of every small, and big, thing that we all experience in the best, and worst, relationships.
I have noticed that having been re-heartbroken, my writing is improving, yet again. I wonder if it is necessary for the artist, of any genre, to maintain a certain level of melancholic emotions in order to be artistically successful? Must one always suffer for their work? Do we all need to be Hemingway’s? (and please, leave the shot guns by the door on your way in). Is there some kind of correlation between the pain that we feel and the way that we express it through our words?
I desperately wish that the ease of creation could occur without being in a depressed state. I enjoy, and appreciate, my writing much more when I know there is pain in my heart (even if the topic is not a sad one) rather than joy. The method of stringing specific words together in a non-specific manner really occurs when one does not abide by “laws” and “expectations.” But must we all suffer for our craft?
vagary, n.
“The mistake is thinking there can be an antidote to the uncertainty.” (195)
-David Levithan, Lover’s Dictionary
Soft Bound Skeletons 