Getting Happy
It's come to my attention that many writers find it hard to be happy. So, as a public service to writers, and to those who must suffer them, I'm posting some happiness skills training.First of all, are you happy?
Happy? Great! Go back to your wonderful life. Not happy? Read on...
Could your imagination be to blame?
Consider The Observer's erudite, literary overview of the problem. If that doesn't work, embrace New York Magazine's pithy approach.
Pithy always makes me happy.
posted by Pants at 8:49 AM|
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5 Comments:
I think I'm more or less happy. Does this make me a bad writer?
If so, what is your advice?
I'm so glad you asked that, Jennica! My personal belief is that being unhappy does not make you a better writer.
I think unhappy and happy writers both struggle with the same writing issues -- impostor complex, internal resistance, self-doubt.
If the old acting adage of "use what you've got" holds true for writing, and I think it does, it doesn't really matter whether you're happy or unhappy, the question is whether you can access what you have -- ie. the connectedness to sadness, rage, frustration that comes with unhappiness, or the openness of true peace and contentment that comes with happiness -- to delve beyond conscious thinking to that place of meaningful creativity.
I think it's a great misconception that dark, disturbing works of art must come from dark, disturbed people. David Lynch has a new book out on creativity that addresses this, as well as other interesting creativity and film-making issues.
Phew!
All that worrying about being happy was making me really stressed.
Re: dark, disturbed works = dark, disturbed people. Film is a great medium through which to realize that simply isn't true-- Lynch being a great example.
The problem, I think, is all those poets and novelists who delved to the depths, and then stuck their head in the oven, jumped off the bridge, put the shotgun in their mouth, or walked slowly into the water (to quote my clever friend Jeramy: "Are those rocks in your pocket, or are you just sad to see me?").
The suicidal writer is iconic, no? And there's the sense that these suicides were the people who *really meant it*, so the rest of us must be just playing around.
?
Interesting topic, and good posts. But I wonder if the categories of happy and unhappy are somewhat emotionally dishonest, at least as far as putting yourself in one group or the other goes.
When we're told to "use what we've got", the question still remains, what is it exactly that we have? Happiness (a great movie, by the way)? Pithy? Cynicism? Misery?
It would appear, at least to me, that it's not so much the emotional moment, but the honesty of the response to it. That honest response, the willingness to hang it all out for others to notice, is where good writing comes from.
Could I possibly sound more pedantic? Ha ha. Sorry.
Jennica -- it is interesting that we equate suicide with great writing. Perhaps that's because we never hear about all the failed, anonymous writers who commit suicide. I'm guessing they outnumber the literary greats.
Harry -- I think you and I are making the same point, with you taking it a step further. Happy and unhappy are very general labels, of course, and, obviously, in fiction, they're completely inadequate, but in life, I don't know, I still think they go a long way. For instance, Carol Shields once made the point to Bill Richardson that all the questions we ask when we run into a friend essentially skirt the question we really want to ask, "Are you happy?"
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