Per my marketing plan (that I am trying to hold myself to), I am supposed to be writing a blog about my book Savages.
However, if I’m honest, my mind is like quicksand lately. Thoughts turn into holes that swallow and crush me until I can no longer breathe. Motivation and focus are figments I cannot seem to get my hands around. Whenever I seem to catch my balance, a hole in the bottom of my brain opens, and I am dragged below the surface again.
I am in this place for many reasons. Things happening in my life, my brain itself. This place is not new. I am a frequent visitor.
And perhaps these broken fragments of my mind do piece back together and relate to Savages. Savages started in this place, after all. The idea came from the darkness, blossomed in my hopelessness.
Sometimes, there is inspiration in the darkness.
Other times, like now, there is mental catatonia there. Lethargy. Detachment. Resignation. Overwhelm.
Yet Savages came from that terrible and wonderful balance when the darkness pinched and sliced and bled some brilliance out of me. I took everything awful I felt and tried to say something beautiful with it. Did I succeed? You would have to read it to decide.
When I read Savages (and I have and I have listened to the audiobook), I always feel the same swell of emotions that inspired and drafted the book. Savages will probably always be my baby, my first book and my first love. They are all still tucked right behind the words. I feel all the darkness soaked into the pages. So I’ll never be able to see the work objectively (as if the author ever could). It will always exist in the dark place for me.
I don’t know why depression and writing walk hand in hand for me. Mania and writing surely do not, though I would love to fuel my craft with that energy. There is just a certain point in the descent, a certain shade in the darkness where my mind unfurls and all the words pour down on me. Any deeper and it swallows and crushes me, but before that pain is some terrible sweet spot.
I have been asked if it is worth it, to suffer the pain for my art. On some days, curled up at the bottom unable to think, I would say no. However, on most days, when I hold something like Savages in my hand that was born from that darkness, I do not even hesitate. It is always worth it, and I honestly do not know how I would function without it.
If you want to read my dark baby, you can find Savages here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07C2T88RZ/ I personally recommend the audiobook, but I might just love to hear my words in someone else’s voice.
(Apologies for the detached brevity. Hopefully, next month finds me more solidified in my efforts.)
Fiery Pen 