Are all writers crazy? and My gut is my enemy.
By Olivene Godfrey
Psychiatrists have found that creative activity in the artist is similar to that in early phase of the schizophrenic. And some people believe Van Gogh and Edgar Alan Poe produced some of their most brilliant works during schizophrenic euphoria periods. But, I don't like to generalize, to say all compulsive writers are crazy. Everyone is a bit neurotic some way and perhaps the writer's hang-up is that he is driven to put his thoughts onto paper.
Perhaps it is the neurotic who while he may never receive anything but rejection slips for his efforts has moments when he feels as one with the universe, newly awakened and he makes connections, reads fresh meanings into everyday things, and is compelled to get his emotions onto paper even if he hates every minute of the actual work.
While on this subject-- a group of writers asked a famous novelist's ideas about what to write about. The novelist suggested the writers should write from the viewpoint of a person whom he intensely disliked. I've been intrigued with that idea. But, the trouble is my dislike or hatred of persons is short lived. Most of the time I don't have anyone I really dislike. And usually the person I dislike--temporarily--is someone I don't understand enough to write about. Still, I think think if one could write about a person one dislikes, it might bring about better understanding, and prove interesting, too
---------------------------------
I made plans for a Sunday outing last week and even selected a spring and summer pantsuit to wear along with the pretty shoes son Barry surprised me with on Mother's day last year. Barry and I planned to dine at a restaurant and then shop a little. Also, we had been having such gorgeous weather to venture outside the house. Now my doctors have told me that my gut has a mind of its own. And my gut seems to be my worst enemy.
Early Sunday morning, my gut pulled out all its shots and I was in the bathroom several hours. It was a white knuckle, cold sweat and woozy feeling IBS attack. I finally had to admit I wasn't going to be able to go anywhere on Sunday. Barry told me that in the future, he would tell me we were going out a short time before we needed to leave and not give me time to worry about it. It would be fun to outsmart my gut!
See you next time.
By Olivene Godfrey
Psychiatrists have found that creative activity in the artist is similar to that in early phase of the schizophrenic. And some people believe Van Gogh and Edgar Alan Poe produced some of their most brilliant works during schizophrenic euphoria periods. But, I don't like to generalize, to say all compulsive writers are crazy. Everyone is a bit neurotic some way and perhaps the writer's hang-up is that he is driven to put his thoughts onto paper.
Perhaps it is the neurotic who while he may never receive anything but rejection slips for his efforts has moments when he feels as one with the universe, newly awakened and he makes connections, reads fresh meanings into everyday things, and is compelled to get his emotions onto paper even if he hates every minute of the actual work.
While on this subject-- a group of writers asked a famous novelist's ideas about what to write about. The novelist suggested the writers should write from the viewpoint of a person whom he intensely disliked. I've been intrigued with that idea. But, the trouble is my dislike or hatred of persons is short lived. Most of the time I don't have anyone I really dislike. And usually the person I dislike--temporarily--is someone I don't understand enough to write about. Still, I think think if one could write about a person one dislikes, it might bring about better understanding, and prove interesting, too
---------------------------------
I made plans for a Sunday outing last week and even selected a spring and summer pantsuit to wear along with the pretty shoes son Barry surprised me with on Mother's day last year. Barry and I planned to dine at a restaurant and then shop a little. Also, we had been having such gorgeous weather to venture outside the house. Now my doctors have told me that my gut has a mind of its own. And my gut seems to be my worst enemy.
Early Sunday morning, my gut pulled out all its shots and I was in the bathroom several hours. It was a white knuckle, cold sweat and woozy feeling IBS attack. I finally had to admit I wasn't going to be able to go anywhere on Sunday. Barry told me that in the future, he would tell me we were going out a short time before we needed to leave and not give me time to worry about it. It would be fun to outsmart my gut!
See you next time.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home