Right now I am angry. Actually, that's not quite true. I am not angry. I am incandescent with fury. It's bubbling inside me like thick porridge in a cauldron; spitting its venom as angry bubbles grow and erupt. I've tried to contain it, to tell myself that it's not worth getting so upset over, but the truth is, it is worth it. Not to get upset over, but to get truly, properly enraged. Screaming at the top of my voice, kicking walls, hitting, crying, and more screaming kind of enraged. But, that's not very grown-up or ladylike, so let's settle for angry. I am very, very angry right now.
I sat down to write an email, but that would be akin to cleaning a loaded gun when you're blindly drunk. You just know you're going to shoot someone or something, the question is just what and how badly. So, I'm not going to write the email I was thinking of writing because I'll just end up saying a lot of things that will both hurt the person I mean to write them to and fall on deaf ears at the same time.
Instead, I'll settle for the unknown audience of those of you who read this. So, writing under the influence...
I have to say, I love writing when I'm under the influence of strong emotions. Over time I've noticed that it's not just what I choose to write about, but how I write that differs depending on the emotion. When I am angry or irritated, I write faster, my sentences short and more compact. The writing becomes less refined, more choppy, as if each sentence is a sharp bite of licorice. I know I need to do a better job of proofreading when I write this way, but in some ways, it's more honest left as is.
The downside to writing when angry is that my filters are all skewed by rage and I can and do put on paper things that I should have held back. Or maybe I shouldn't hold back. There's a recklessness to this kind of writing that is both frightening and liberating. I don't set out to hurt anyone with what I might say, but I do find that I often hurt myself with the things I don't say. Undoubtedly there's a fine balance there, but it's not one that I can achieve when blinded by rage so I'll err on the side of caution today and I won't write or send that email... Although I won't promise that I won't do it tomorrow.
Hopeful... I can sort of write when I'm hopeful, but it's too close to happy and I absolutely cannot write when I am happy. Happiness or joy are inspiration killers for me. I don't know what to write or how to write when I'm happy. It's as if being happy takes up all my brain's energy and leaves nothing for other pursuits.
Writing when I'm happy is kind of like talking right after dental surgery - it's still your mouth and your tongue and you haven't forgotten English, but nothing works as it's supposed to and eventually you realize that the effort just isn't worth it. You might as well wait for anesthesia to wear off and for your mouth to return back to normal.
It may be a morbid comparison, but that doesn't make it any less true. Say "No" to writing under the influence of happiness.
I can handle calm and I can write when I am calm. I don't necessarily want or need to write when I am calm, but if opportunity presents itself, I can. It's not the most productive or imagination filled sensation, but being calm allows me a chance to really think about what I'm writing. The result is that what I write comes out so polished and worked over that it's almost bland. With calm comes endless patience for tinkering with each sentence and even each word. It's writing by design and just like "Paint-by-number" can produce a Van Gogh masterpiece, when you look at it closer, it's just a bit too neat and a bit too clinical to amount to anything. So, I can write when I'm calm, but I won't write well and no amount of editing will breathe life into that carefully crafted corpse.
So, what's left? Sadness and arousal. Some of my best, most eloquent, heartfelt writing was done under the influence of those two emotions. Sadness, writing, and arousal are inextricably linked in my mind. Being sad makes me want to write, writing arouses me, and arousal pushes me to keep writing to keep the arousal alive. When I am sad or mopey or experiencing a sudden bout of depression, my writing just pours out. Fiction or diary pages, it doesn't really matter.
I love the English language. I am not very imaginative when it comes to other art forms, I can't play an instrument or paint or draw, but I can write. I can turn my emotions inside out by giving them voice. I can turn sadness into hope and inspiration. I can create arousal and keep it percolating through phrases that have nothing to do with sex. Words have amazing power and I can manipulate them for my pleasure and for the enjoyment of anyone who feels like joining me for the ride.
So, what is writing under the influence of sadness like? It's lyrical and it flows from sentence to sentence, like a thin stream of water running down a set of stone steps. There a moment ago and then gone, already burbling on ahead, leaving behind a hint of wetness evaporating before your eyes. It's both freeing and frightening because it feels out of control. As the words pour out, you never know what thoughts will tumble out into the open. Sometimes, reading what I wrote at these times doesn't feel like my writing. It's too raw and I am always tempted to edit it. It's not raw in the same way as angry writing is. Angry writing aims to strike, to change, to influence and enforce. Sad writing is like slicing open your flesh and leaving the wound open for the world to see. It's an act of faith, an exposure of vulnerability and offer of trust. Picture a cat offering her belly to be rubbed - that's sad writing.
And this? What sort of writing was this? This was substitution writing or detached writing, if you wish. It's writing for the sake of writing. Not very good, not very bad, just there to take place of what can't be written; at least not right now.
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