Thursday, April 26, 2012
I doubt many others are going to discuss the addictive aspect of writing.
Being a storyteller is a pressing need that nearly drives us crazy. I have to tell these tales or I'm fit to burst. The words are constantly banging around in my head, and I'm always toying with the What Ifs of my surroundings.
The addiction doesn't end there, though. It's not enough to just write it down. I need to have other people read it. I need to be validated, and know I took them somewhere special for a while.
It keeps going from there. The adulation is great, and sets me off to bobbleheaded happiness. (Bobbleheaded is a term used around my house to describe the way I act like a living bobblehead when I'm over-joyed.) The high of entertaining someone is like no other. It really makes everything else seem unimportant. I could live off hearing someone liked my story.
Yet all highs have their come-downs. The writing crash is horrid. It eats at me, and tells me silly things, and wants me to feel worthless. Oneperson liked my story, but ten others didn't even read itt. There are much better phrases I could have used, and the rhythm is horribly off. I'll never be a real storyteller.
And then it starts over. I absolutely have to write. Doesn't matter how much the last one "sucked", this one will surely be better, will be the one.
Writing is the worst addiction. At least heroin addicts can get into rehab. Storytellers are stuck chasing the literary dragon because of something internal. It will never come out, and it will never end.
Yet I wouldn't want itt any other way.