For years now I have been using my writing as a form of cathartic release from what ever it was that was bothering me. Somebody did me wrong, well I would just go and pound out a paragraph or two on the old typewriter and I would feel much better almost immediately. In fact, by the time that I got to the end of the paragraph that I was writing, I tended to find the whole thing funny.
Sure I often blamed myself for why I was angry, but even that became humorous and these rantings turned into drawings that I have been able to exhibit in art galleries all over North America and Europe. I am not tooting my horn over here, I am just saying that I somehow found a way to displace my anger and make something positive out of it, and that is about the most constructive thing that I have been able to do with my life with any consistency. A funny thing started to happen though, and as I got to show my work and it became more and more public, friends and total strangers would come up to me and tell me that they hoped that things would not necessarily workout for me the way I wanted because it would only ruin everything. If I got happy, well then what would I have to write about.... My career would be finished. I would laugh along with whom ever said such things, but somewhere in the back of my mind I would cringe and pray that they were wrong. I wanted to be happy. Pain is not fun. I could figure out something better to do with my time once I was happy.
Recently I have had a terrible run of bad luck. I mean things just could not be going any worse for me. One thing after another and this had been going on for months. I felt like shit and even embarrassed to come home at night to have to tell my wife of yet another failure (even though she has been remarkably supportive). Anyway last week, finally, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Multiple projects that I have been working on and doors that I have been pounding on all seemed to be opening up at the same time and I feel like my life is turning the corner. Everything is going my way. All the hard work and heart ache may actually have been worth it... So, anyway, I had nothing to write all weekend. I let things really good for like 4-5 days. No art. Nothing. And it was getting scary. Was it that I couldn't work at all because I was finally happy?
Was this the self -fulfilling prophecy that I had been warned about? And now I am rambling on with no end in sight. I told my wife about my problems with writing and the first thing she said to me was..."New outlook on life, whole new set of problems!" "And besides, we're still fucking broke!!"
And just like that the gears started to move again and I was able to find
some terrible way to look at my current situation and then start writing.
See, I told you my wife was supportive.