I am the sunny optimist. I complain that literature has to be sad. I get into great debates with literature teachers about the reason WHY great literature has to be so sad.
I think I finally understand. I don't write when I'm happy or content. When I'm happy, giggly, goofy or silly, it's hard for me to write. I want to be enjoying the moment, not clacking away at my keyboard and my loved ones want me to be enjoying the moment with them, not clacking away at the keyboard.
The other downside to writing in that mood is that unless the occasion is momentous, happy giggly goofy silly writing is, well, boring.
Now I understand. Pain makes me write. When I'm tired of crying, or when I cannot yet cry, writing forces the emotions out. It lets me see them, lets me tell others what I mean in a way I generally cannot with my voice.
Now that I know it, one thing concerns me. Does this mean I have to start being miserable?
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