Madness, Writing, And The Lunacy Of It All!

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Madness, Writing, And The Lunacy Of It All!

(With appreciation to Audrey Winn)

A Facebook friend recently tagged me in a meme in which creativity was equated with madness. I agree with the comparison, and readily admit that my talent–whatever its size–is born out of innate depression and melancholia.

I know several authors, amateur and pro, who display tendencies toward insanity, especially when writing. A few are mundane and boring, without abnormality of any kind about them, their output humdrum and hardly worth the read.

Creativity stems from the ability to see things most folks can’t see. What sane person beholds a hunk of marble and sees The Kiss? Can sanity face the blank page and–within months or years–fill ream after ream with The Brothers Karamazov? I’ll not get into music, the most enigmatic of the arts. Even though I’ve composed over 1000 songs, pulling tunes from the air still seems miraculous.

When alone, I’m in foul fettle, my tone harsh and my manner despondent. Writing worsens it. Put me in a group–especially if we’ve gone to eat–I become the center of attention, bordering on flamboyance. My wife can’t stand this, but it’s the way melancholic people behave in a crowd. Make em laugh in public; curse em in private. I wish I could deny it, but it’s the truth, and–as said before–writers seek truth in all they do.

It comes down to the so-called Jekyll and Hyde complex. When writing or composing, I am Mr. Hyde…quick to temper and liable to yell in response to innocent questions. During full stop, I’m Dr. Jekyll–a quiet introvert sitting in the corner. I’m often called snob or antisocial. So be it.

I’m sorry to say that artists, especially writers, exhibit bipolar behavior, even-tempered one moment, screaming and cursing the next. My family knows to knock on the office door when I’m working, lest they become victims of tantrums of Biblical proportion.

I wish it wasn’t so. My wife enjoys when I’m not working, as my mood lightens. When she sees me collecting notes and dictionaries and other tools about me, she prepares for battle.

Are artists crazy? Undoubtedly. Why else pursue so difficult a career? Far better to dig a ditch or thread pipe. At least you get a steady paycheck and some form of routine.

You get none of that when writing. It takes a strange person to like doing this. Without writers, however, there would be a dearth of stories, and I can think of nothing worse. The world would suffer…and my mood would not improve.

Write, you loony fools. Ignore the criticisms, discard the feelings of ineptitude, and–most importantly–create the best literature you can pull from your soul (poor, black thing it may be). Embrace lunacy. The crazier the author, the better the story. I’d rather be looked at askance than give up my writing time in the office.

Madness? Of course! I wouldn’t exchange it for sanity and a Fortune 500 job.

Now, I must go walk the fish and strap myself (and my loved ones) into bed. Tomorrow I return to my writing.