In Greek times, it was often assumed that those who created art or wrote were possessed by divine spirits. Today, however, art and expression of creativity is often discussed in negative terms, such as deeming painters and writers ""starving artists.""
At family Christmas, amongst a sea of cousins studying biology and engineering, my Aunt Peg singles me out for some FBI-esque interrogation. One minute we're, you know, roasting chestnuts, and the next, she's shaking my book of Charles Bukowski poetry and a tub of parsley, asking me if this is some of that ""nasty reefer.""
When writers are successful, sometimes they are not even credited with talent, but gain public attention through a fascination with ""madness."" This development, however, may possess some interesting merit, which coincides with our increasing knowledge and technology concerning mental illness.
Think back to all that melodramatic poetry you wrote damning the distance between you and each successive member of the Backstreet Boys. Powerful lines along the lines of ""Baby I burned my hand on / The frying pan of our love / But still it feels better / Than the bubble gum that holds us together / Which you stepped on."" Those melodramatic late night angsties, some scientists have found, may have given way to the first aggravated fruits of creativity laying dormant in the left side of your brain.
For example, in ""Diary"" by the notoriously quirky author of ""Fight Club,"" Chuck Palahniuck, the main character, a painter, becomes the prisoner of her husband's family. They starve her and feed her a cocktail of pills until her suffering leads to a string of perfect, famous and extremely valuable paintings. Disturbing, yes, but profitable.
The grounds for Palahniuck's story really aren't that far-fetched either, especially if you look into the literary world. Psychological studies at Harvard and the University of Toronto have listed ""creativity"" as a psychological side effect of mental disorders like depression and bipolar disorder. Several famous authors across the literary timeline seem to provide such studies with profound evidence that a good case of the crazies can induce dizzying side effects of sheer genius.
American poet Sylvia Plath lost her father in childhood and tried to commit suicide several times before succeeding at the age of 30. Literary scholars discussing the prevalent presence of depression amongst female poets have deemed their theory the ""Sylvia Plath Effect.""
And of course there is the Beatnik revolution, notorious for its chemical and emotional indulgences. In fact, a lack of chemical dependence was a wish for alienation amongst the beatnik gang. UW-Madison students would find it comparable to kindly declining common recreational activities around these German infested northwoods parts.
So what's a writer to do now that I've already escaped childhood relatively unscathed? (Minus a few years of some really out of control pseudo-fro hair). My family tree remains free of mental disease, and I've given up the drugs, ever since that bad LSD trip in Tijuiana back in '92, of course.
From a Midwestern vantage point, unfortunately, life or death situations are few and far between save the occasional confrontation with disgruntled moped drivers or WisPIRG representatives with the determination of a pack of hungry zombies. When the only lame-spiration you've got is some sickeningly happy feelings or a really cute puppy, should you go out in search of misadventures to incite and inspire your S & M lovin' left side?
If you decide to embrace your inner insanity, don't let your mom in on it. Mothers had an emo-radar way before Fall Out Boy crashed MTV. She will inevitably send you a package of brownies and your tortured but brilliant writings will once again fall into a shambles, diluted by happy feelings. She would make you quit smoking, too.
So the last question I pose is, would anybody want to break up with me? If I get famous, I'll stop stalking you and send you an autographed bookmark.
