William Styron
John Keats
William Faulkner
Leo Tolstoy
Lord Byron
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Edgar Allen Poe
Charles Dickens
Tennessee Williams
Ernest Hemingway
Joseph Conrad
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Graham Greene
Henry James
Susanna Kaysen
Herman Melville
Sylvia Plath
Anne Rice
JK Rowling
Amy Tan
Mark Twain
Virginia Woolf
David Foster Wallace
It has been said that all of these writers struggle(d) with depression.
I heard a quote once that said, “The creative mind is rarely tidy.” And, I’d have to say, much of its untidiness may be blamed on depression or other inner demons. I had bouts of depression in my twenties and I always found some weird comfort in the fact that other writers–other people with my disposition–experienced times of being their own worst enemies, too.
I used to think that being a writer (or any type of artist) required a certain sensitivity that went hand-in-hand with depression. After all, if you’re that in tune with the details of people and the world around you, if you spend that much time analyzing feelings and putting them into stories, how could you not be depressed from time to time? I’ve rarely been good at seeing the forest for the trees. I’ll stare at each individual tree for hours, focus on the bark, wonder about the perspective of each leaf. My mom used to say, “You make molehills out of mountains,” meaning I tend to break things down into little bits. I’d argue the minutia is where the good stuff is. But the minutia can also make you nutty.
These days, I’m–dare I say?–ridiculously content. And–dare I say?–my creativity is still very much in tact. I see the forest and appreciate the trees. I like my mountains and molehills equally. I think you do have to be sensitive to be a writer, but I don’t think you have to be depressed because you’re sensitive.
Thoughts?
“The Bell Jar” is also one of my favorite books and yes, I’ve dealt with depression. I have to think that creativity is a double-edged sword. I’m overly sensitive to things in the world around me, but I can either use that for or against my writing and my general state of mind. I get frustrated and depressed when I’m blocked and can’t express whatever it is I observe/feel, but when I’m open and writing, I’m content with the same things that once brought me down.
I’m not making light of depression–I still struggle with it–but I don’t think it’s a prerequisite for a talent with words. However, I’m not above using it as an excuse during times when I’m creatively blocked 😉 If it worked for Plath, can it work for me?