I had a great weekend. Perfect weather, lots of family and fun. The source of this post is: through all this all I wanted to do is write. I finally had the opportunity to sit down for a little while last night and write, and now I feel satisfied. I am once again realizing how the more I write, the more I need to write.
I also happened to have finished reading The Gargoyle, by Andrew Davidson this weekend. Anyone read it?
It is an excellent novel, that made a spectacular entrance into the world. I do not recommend it for the faint of heart, and if you wonder why you bothered, wait until you hit the 100-page mark before quitting – you won’t regret it!
Of course, one of the novel’s main characters is a maniacal artist (possibly bi-polar, or manic depressant), just adding to my line of thinking for the weekend! The artist in this particular book is a sculptress, who has such strong desires to create that she completely neglects herself and those around her. The narrator of the book makes a reference to how many artists do happen to be maniacal in some form or another, and it is this mania that drives them to create. It is the oldest of cliches.
I cannot imagine such extremes, but I do know that there are times when the need to sit down and write is primary, and it is a battle to keep my head anywhere but in my book. I question mania as a driving factor – I think perhaps it is only fuel.