The whole idea of angst and creativity looks romantic in the movies. But the real-life version can sometimes seem as if it includes a whole lot more suffering than art. I’ll venture that anyone who’s ever tried to write anything more than a pun has spent their fair share of time wandering around, hands clenched in their hair, eyes wild and bloodshot, muttering to themselves, and generally looking:
b) insane
c) undead
(Take your pick.)
When asked why we write, we’re usually quick to respond with an answer along the lines of “because I love it.” But sometimes it’s hard to figure out how we can love something that can make us so
miserable.
