I’m not near famous yet,but blogging can be difficult at the best of times,with the soapy drama on tv distracting me.
Even more distracting are Kelly and Michael who create fond ringing in my ears.
Still thou,the boobtube instills Spin The Wheel, forever.
I’m back in my sitting room writing,thank heaven,where at least I can hear my ears ringing again.
Stillness draws the letters around a more familiar sanity.
Do all writers lose their minds? Surely not, but if such a high number of the famous ones go mad, I’m guessing that an even higher percentage of the lesser known writers tinker in madness.
Way before I even dreamed of writing professionally I had a certain fascination with the lunacy of the world’s great writers. Talents like Petronius, Pound, Hemingway, and Nietzsche, who, for valid reasons or not, descended into madness, shortening their lives and their portfolios, forever robbing the world of what might have been.
Woolf. Mayakofsky, Pavese. Berryman.
It’s no secret that writers are susceptible to severe depression. There are even surveys and studies that say so –
Hans Christian Andersen. Truman Capote. Charles Dickens. Henry James.
Does one need to be depressed to be a writer, or does writing merely lead one into depression?
Celan. Sexton. Plath. Brautigan.
In the publishing world of today, writer’s…
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