Eloquence and Melancholy

I’ve been put through the ringer in my personal life these last two weeks. Combine that with entering the whirlwind world of the Romantic poets in my British Literature class and I have to say, it’s gotten me into quite the contemplative mood. One of the highlights of my writing career so far (embarrassingly brief and rather uninteresting, I’m afraid) was when one of my high school teachers made an off hand comment one day in class that really stuck with me. She said, “Good writers don’t have happy lives.” I was indignant at first, and then a little insecure. Of course back then I was 16, knew very little about the big and scary “real world” and hadn’t yet learned to take what teachers say with a grain of salt. I wondered if “good writer” and “unhappy life” were inseparable. It was enough to shake me for a moment. I wanted to be a good writer, but who purposely sets out to have an unhappy life to achieve that end? This past week has been an introspective one, and I’ve been wondering – is there perhaps a grain of truth to that?

I’ve long been aware that I produce much more eloquent and evocative prose when I’m upset, lonely or just plain melancholic. If I had to describe it I would say that when I’m feeling down I sink into a different state of mind that has a heightened acuity for more striking language and insights. On any given day I have to struggle to get my writing wheels turning (which is normal – any writing guide will tell you that getting started is always the most difficult part), but when I’m upset, my mind is like this fountain of narrative that flows and flows endlessly. It sounds pretentious,  but I’ve honestly had those moments where I have to get up in the middle of the night to write something down because I just cannot bear to forget it. Or times when I feel like I’m not in control of the creative process but rather that it is in control of me. I used to think it was just moments of inspiration, but lately I’ve noticed that they always come in the middle of, or on the heels of some depressing mood.

Literature isn’t my only area of expertise. As a mildly dedicated Psychology student, I know some useful facts about the way emotions affect cognition. I know that depressed people are more realistic about their circumstances where as happy people tend to be overly optimistic. But realistic doesn’t necessarily translate to insightful or poetic.

Or does it?

I have a theory. We get lonely, depressed or melancholic for a reason. I think it’s safe to say that dissatisfaction is a big factor in triggering any of those moods. The major cause of my occasional melancholic moods is dissatisfaction with the way my life is going. Sometimes I think I don’t have enough friends. Sometimes I’ll worry that I’m not extraverted enough to take the risks that make life worth living (although I should point out this is a distinctively North American bias). Whatever it is that gets me down, there always seems to be a common denominator – I get overwhelmed from my reality and wish to take a step back, take a breather before I dive right back in. And I think the connection to the writing lies right there. Obviously, I can only speak for myself when I say that melancholy moods give way to intense introspection, but I don’t think I’d be wrong in saying that I’m not the only one. My melancholy is characterized by a certain desire to be a hermit – I don’t want to be out living life because at that particular moment it’s not bringing me any kind of satisfaction. If I’m not living it then I stand at a special vantage point that lets me view it from a more analytical and critical point of view, and this is where insight comes from. It doesn’t come from being so close to something that you can’t see all its parts – it comes from taking a step back to look at the whole picture and think about how each part connects to the other parts and how it contributes to the whole.

Isn’t that precisely what writing is about? If writers were out living life, they wouldn’t be writing about it. Writers are the ones that sit down and think about where we have come from and where we are going. They observe all the components to life and try to figure out what it all means. They make connections the rest of us don’t precisely because we don’t have the view they do. In order to do what they do, you have to stand at a distance.

So was my teacher right? I don’t think so. I think you can have a perfectly happy life and still be a good writer. I think that teacher saw a link between difficult lives and a heightened literary ability. But she missed the connection between those two – adversity leads to complex emotions and situations. Good writing comes from this, but it doesn’t mean that you have to have a difficult life in order have complex emotions or get into complicated situations. Or that adversity is a prerequisite for insight.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet.