The Tortured Writer Syndrome
May 25th 2007 13:43
Alas, poor Horrocks, I knew him well.
Sorry about that, but if I’m going to be a tortured writer then the readers shall also be tortured. You have been warned.
We’ll get back to Horrocks in a moment, but the question of the moment is: “Do you have to be tortured to be a writer?”
The reason I ask, well, reasons really, is the number of great writers that seem to have been in the thrall of some form of substance abuse or just plain nuts. I mean, really, is it a prerequisite that you be morbidly mentally bankrupt to be creative?
Do you have to be several ants short of a picnic to string together interesting dialogue?
I had never considered that I may be tortured writer. I know a few writers who seem to go out of their way to live the life of a tortured writer. They seem to attack such a lifestyle with the enthusiasm and boundless energy that is only equalled by British soccer fans in France.
Is there in fact such a thing as “Tortured Writer Syndrome” at all? I mean if such a thing does exist, then all high school English teachers should be great writers. After all, sanity is not exactly rife in that profession. The fact that this class of pedantic apostrophe floggers are, at best, boring curmudgeons turning out some of the most God awful tripe when they turn their hand to writing speaks for itself.
English teachers aside, do writers need to have suffered great sadness to write well enough to convince the reader to suspend their beliefs while reading a story.
Have you suffered enough at the hands of an uncaring world to be a great writer?
Is there a black pit in your unconscious in which you have consigned the demons of your past to moulder, only to find that they actually have you by the short and curlies?
Are these demons really the creative force that drives you?
Or are they the evil that creeps from that black pit to trip you up, make you miss that deadline, sowing self-doubt, sapping your best intentions.
Or, just perhaps, all of the above.
I can tell you that the demons are real, that they exist, they can destroy you.
Does tortured writer syndrome exist? Yes it does. It can consume you totally, given half a chance.
Recently I had to face my demons. They were born of the fears and disappointments of life. The bullies from school whose bullying was only surpassed by the bullying of those who should have been protectors.
Oh, I know, poor little me. Right?
Wrong!
I survived, I proved my demons wrong.
But most importantly, I found that the demons were only echoes from a sad past that, like mushrooms, grew in that dark pit of forgetfulness I created.
I still have the sadness, after all we can’t change what has already happened.
But the demons wither and die when dragged into the bright light of day.
So what about Horrocks. Well, he was a friend, as obnoxious, quarrelsome and self-centred as he was.
His demons got him, he died by his own hand.
In memory of V J Horrocks.
when one goes down that road
that leads to death
by ones own hand
should we stop them
if we could, would we
help them if we did
my friend walked that road
his foot steps took him beyond
his life of dark despair
i couldn’t turn him from the path
that took him to another life
and left me here to wonder why
Sorry about that, but if I’m going to be a tortured writer then the readers shall also be tortured. You have been warned.
We’ll get back to Horrocks in a moment, but the question of the moment is: “Do you have to be tortured to be a writer?”
The reason I ask, well, reasons really, is the number of great writers that seem to have been in the thrall of some form of substance abuse or just plain nuts. I mean, really, is it a prerequisite that you be morbidly mentally bankrupt to be creative?
Do you have to be several ants short of a picnic to string together interesting dialogue?
I had never considered that I may be tortured writer. I know a few writers who seem to go out of their way to live the life of a tortured writer. They seem to attack such a lifestyle with the enthusiasm and boundless energy that is only equalled by British soccer fans in France.
Is there in fact such a thing as “Tortured Writer Syndrome” at all? I mean if such a thing does exist, then all high school English teachers should be great writers. After all, sanity is not exactly rife in that profession. The fact that this class of pedantic apostrophe floggers are, at best, boring curmudgeons turning out some of the most God awful tripe when they turn their hand to writing speaks for itself.
English teachers aside, do writers need to have suffered great sadness to write well enough to convince the reader to suspend their beliefs while reading a story.
Have you suffered enough at the hands of an uncaring world to be a great writer?
Is there a black pit in your unconscious in which you have consigned the demons of your past to moulder, only to find that they actually have you by the short and curlies?
Are these demons really the creative force that drives you?
Or are they the evil that creeps from that black pit to trip you up, make you miss that deadline, sowing self-doubt, sapping your best intentions.
Or, just perhaps, all of the above.
I can tell you that the demons are real, that they exist, they can destroy you.
Does tortured writer syndrome exist? Yes it does. It can consume you totally, given half a chance.
Recently I had to face my demons. They were born of the fears and disappointments of life. The bullies from school whose bullying was only surpassed by the bullying of those who should have been protectors.
Oh, I know, poor little me. Right?
Wrong!
I survived, I proved my demons wrong.
But most importantly, I found that the demons were only echoes from a sad past that, like mushrooms, grew in that dark pit of forgetfulness I created.
I still have the sadness, after all we can’t change what has already happened.
But the demons wither and die when dragged into the bright light of day.
So what about Horrocks. Well, he was a friend, as obnoxious, quarrelsome and self-centred as he was.
His demons got him, he died by his own hand.
In memory of V J Horrocks.
when one goes down that road
that leads to death
by ones own hand
should we stop them
if we could, would we
help them if we did
my friend walked that road
his foot steps took him beyond
his life of dark despair
i couldn’t turn him from the path
that took him to another life
and left me here to wonder why
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