I used to wonder why I always want to write when I’m angry. Why do those things that twist around like metal from a ravaged junkyard find a way of spilling out of the fingertips? What is it about the angst, anxiety, worry, and fret that makes creative juices leave the safety of simmer and start to boil?
I used to think maybe it was romance…writer’s tend to be the worst kinds of romantics. The chicken or the egg theory applies here. Did our love of writing make us romantic, or did our romanticism make us write? For the kind of writers that have to write…that need it to cure the ulcer that comes from too much pleasure or pain–they are the latter. Romanticism came first. Then, we found a way to express it. We found a way to find the words that evade us when trying to strum our vocal chords at once. These rare feelings come at times when it’s hard to walk and chew gum at the same time. As eloquent of speakers as we may be, willing the throat is one request too many. We write.
The hardest emotions that roll around deep, enjoying the bowels of the mind, and relishing in the moments when the tedious tight rope shakes–those are the one that tickle the keyboard.
I’m pissed. That sounds simple, but it’s the right word. I’m pissed off to the uttermost. It’s not so much important what it is about, than it is I have to say it. I have to convey it, unleash it. I want the kinesthetic feeling, exercising those fine motor skills, that makes me feel every ounce of it. Then maybe I can shower that feeling away–but for one splendid moment it robs from me all of my innovation, all of my passion, and all of my words. Maybe it robs me of nothing. Maybe that’s why anger makes for the best writing, The verve it creates, the synergy with the written language lets something ugly become beautiful for a moment. Maybe this isn’t my dark side, but the optimist in me, forcing shit into art. Perhaps I’m giving some dead thing a pulse again…the part of me that departed while I was so pissed off. I feel just a little more flowers and sunshine already.