The Black Funk I wrote about last week lays in the past, the emotional distress and accompanying anguish vague like a shuddering nightmare whose intensity fades with the passing day. As you may have noticed, I am an analytical sort, my mind always active with thoughts of the why’s and what if’s of life; questioning works well for my writing.
Looking back, I realize it was necessary to fall into that black pit, struggle to climb out, because only then could I realize the exhilaration of freedom—freedom and knowledge that writing is as much a part of me as the blood pulsing through my veins and the skin encompassing this body I call me.
Contemplating the time I journeyed through the hopelessness, one heavy step followed by one increasingly heavier, I have come to realize that I needed to be purged.
An instance with my new puppy demonstrated the need for the purging.
While I stayed home to write, my wife took Rushka on a hike to a field that had been recently bull-dozed, leaving the bodies of many rodents trapped by the metal Death-Bringer. Rushka found one and promptly ate it.
Once home, using a bulb syringe and hydrogen peroxide, we induced her to vomit—we didn’t want her sick from the rotting flesh. Within five minutes, she threw up everything, purged of the carrion.
The Black Funk did for me what the peroxide did for our puppy: purged the stale, made me vomit the rotting and the trite; I was left renewed and refreshed, but more importantly, I regained hope. Sometimes it’s necessary to remove ourselves from the inner trauma, the drama, so that we can start anew—the reason for the storm I know as the Black Funk.
All writers experience life’s highs and lows, the ebbs and flows. And as writers, our makeup dictates that we must write about the experiences, reach deep inside our psyche and pull forth what is difficult to reveal but must be shared. Only then can we understand not only ourselves, but the greater scope of humanity; being sensitive to the nuances of life, the pain and the joy, so that we may show others that they are not alone. I was reminded that, as writers, we are not alone in trials gripping us in a vice-like hold, the thus, the reason I started The Knights of Writ blog.
Writers, perhaps more than any of the creative endeavors, are a solitary breed. How often do we tuck into a corner, the light from the monitor our only illumination? To be a writer is, many times, to feel alone, but we are not. Hug that knowledge like an old friend, and share with your fellow writers here so that they may sense the comfort.
Take hold of one you love before you sit down to write, but write nonetheless.
This Week’s Quote:
“The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought, this in turn makes us think more deeply about life, which helps us regain our equilibrium.” Norbet Platt