As Lori Hoeck awesomely put it in the comment section of my new favorite post, opposites do indeed attract.
David Wright and I have an awesome back and forth this week going on over at the Inkwell. I’m a writer sure, and I love every drop of ink spilled, but I don’t believe it has to be this wrist slitting torture both assigned and romanticized by history and culture alike.
On Monday, I wrote a post called, “The Myth of the Tortured Writer.” Today, Dave followed it up with his post, “Reality of the tortured writer.”
I said:
Writing should be fun. If it isn’t, perhaps it isn’t for you. I never understood the image of the pained and tortured writer, tearing clumps from their hairline as they face the impossible foe of filling the page, pulling sentences from their minds like ore from the deepest corners of a mineshaft…
He said:
I am brooding, contemplative and insist on working in seclusion. If I didn’t think I’d look silly, I’d probably wear all black all the time because it would certainly match the mental cloud pressing down on me. It’s not that I sit and feel sorry for myself, cut myself while listening to emo music or have thoughts of suicide. It’s a different sort of torture — self torture…
The comment sections are alive which is awesome. Few things are better than bubbling banter.
Until tomorrow…
