I know, I know. I haven’t posted here in goodness knows how long, and that’s a shame–all on my end, of course. I haven’t blogged, and I haven’t written much over the latter part of the year, and that includes journal entries.
I hardly know what to write about anymore, although there’s still that urge within me to write. I suppose I will be writing forever, after a fashion. Sometimes, I think, parts of me are all terribly out of sync. At some point, I am courageous, and bold, and I will write without being afraid of my subjects, my prose, or my inner critic…but then those are the times that I don’t have anything to write about. And so I write about mundane things.
And then other times, it’s the other way around. Scratch that–it’s that way most of the time.
Sometimes I wonder, if people need a tragedy in their lives, in order to write. A good many writers have either gone through tragedy, or suffer depression, etc, before they started writing, or during the period of their writing career. Is that some sort of prerequisite? What is it that goads people to write? Is the tragedy in their lives the catalyst?
Why am I even asking–of course tragedy can be a catalyst. I’ve written copiously when I’m depressed, out of a need to relieve myself and let all that pent-up emotion out before I explode.
Does that mean that, right now, as I’m writing this “comeback” blog post, I’m depressed?