“Writers live precarious lives, lives threatened by despair, frustrated hopes, lonely anxiety. They feel neglected, misunderstood, useless.”
– Wayne C. Booster
Really? Am I full of despair? No, I don’t think so. I live each day, probably with frustrated hope. Really? Is my hope frustrating? Isn’t anyone’s hope frustrating? Isn’t that why it is hope – because its not there, so you wish for it whether or not it may come true. That is frustrating, but not filled with despair.
Really? Do I feel lonely and full of anxiety? Do I feel neglected? I like to consider myself to have a couple of really close friends who are there for me no matter what. They don’t neglect me. I love them and they love me. (Maybe once in a while, I wish for peace and quiet alone, but I am never lonely.) Anxiety? Really? Who doesn’t have anxiety? I’m a college student! I thrive on anxiety! Hah! My roommate, an engineering major has anxiety!
Really? Misunderstood and useless? Well….no. Those who have a child in their hearts, who long to see my world of fantasy will welcome me with open arms and enjoy my writing. Those who don’t, and thrive on academic pursuits only, they will congratulate me. Useless? Never! I bring adventure and escape! I bring knowledge and opinion. Never will I feel useless in my talent to write.
Sorry, Mr. Wayne C. Booster. You are thinking of extreme cases, such as Emily Dickenson and Edgar Allen Poe. Were you depressed yourself? I’m sorry to hear that. But as for me, I believe writers are filled with hope and creativity, waiting to share it with their loved ones.