Posted on January 3, 2012 by betsylerner
Saw my psychopharmacologist today for my tune-up. He actually referred to himself as a mechanic, said he looks under hoods all day. I can forgive the crappy metaphor given that he’s the only medical professional to correctly rewire my engine. Of all the chapters in The Forest for the Trees, the one people never talk about or write to me about is the one called “Touching Fire,” about depression, alcoholism, drug addiction and bi-polar illness in writers. THe chapter is largely drawn from Kay Redfield Jamison’s brilliant book on mental illness in writers in which she documents a disproportionately high rate of bi-polar illness in writers, in people with an artistic temperament. THough I struggled for the better part of fifteen years with manic depression, the last twenty years have been depression-free, free of manic episodes. The floor and the ceiling have remained fixed. I’m too smart to say I miss it.
Dear Lord of the Medicine Cabinet, thank you for my salmon tablets. THank you for my life. This is a tough season for people. If you’re not feeling well, get help. As a good friend of mine once said when I asked him if he was thinking about suicide, “Not me, honey, the light always changes.” What about you? I’m thinking about you.
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Posted on January 2, 2012 by betsylerner
When you sit down to write, to start something new, have you made a host of decisions such as point of view, tense, style, etc. or do you start writing and see what happens, see how it comes out? After all you can always revise. Do you plan your story, outline it, make index cards, jot notes on napkins, or do you set out into the forest and see what you find, hope for crumbs. Is the creative process enhanced or compromised by planning.
How do you roll?
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Posted on January 1, 2012 by betsylerner

I want to talk about being selfish, about being a selfish bastard, about boundaries and limits and the hard bark of an elm tree. I want to talk about waking up in a cold, empty house. Outside, gnarled gray branches electrified the sky. The plan is to work all day. Reading Poets & Writers to procrastinate, you see the face of a poet you once loved, followed to Baltimore; a failure in courage when you didn’t say hello. Later, a fruitless trip to Staples, forgetting the kind of toner you need, standing in the aisle like Ruth amid the alien corn. Can I help you, ma’am? Yes, dear man. Can you cover my body in toner and set it on fire? I spent the vacation writing. Writing!
I was hoping to do something new with the blog this year, to be positive and affirming and full of love, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t and I won’t. Resolution: eat shit and die.
And your resolution? Whatcha got?
Filed under: The End of the World as We Know It, Uncategorized, Writing | 44 Comments »