Imagination Overload

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As a writer, I of course have a very active imagination. I am constantly thinking up scenarios for all kinds of characters. There seems to be a never-ending supply of romance, angst and happy-ever-afters in my head.

A side effect of this could be potentially dangerous, and I'm sure it must be common to all writers. I am also very good at imagining various different possible future scenarios for my own life, most of which are overwhelmingly positive. As I push myself to get to the next stage in my WIP I see myself penning a best-seller and walking the red carpet at the Oscars. Outlandish dreams can motivate us, but we have to make sure we aren't disappointed when reality falls short of our yearnings.

At the moment as I journey through a dark season, ridiculously trite fantasies seem to be a coping mechanism for me. I am  just another character, playing out scenes that won't ever happen. I need to be careful not to put hope in the fantasies I create for myself. But I can also use my imagination as a safe haven to get me through the tough times.

What sort of fantasies have you imagined for your own life? Do you get carried away or are you always realistic?





Turning Pain into Art

Without going into details, this is the worst time of my life. I am broken.

I haven't been doing much of anything, struggling to keep to my daily routines. Writing-related activities have fallen off my radar along with everything else. Even the last post on this blog had been scheduled earlier.

In the midst of the pain, there is a conciliatory thought. Now I know what this feels like, perhaps one day I can muster the strength to use some of it in my writing. My future works may been somehow enriched by this. Despair did muster my creativity into action briefly the other day, as I wrote a poem for the first time in years, pouring out my anguish as I tapped away on my phone on the train. Perhaps the depth of this emotion and confusion will unlock some deeper artistic need.

And during the coming days, hopefully I can pull myself back into life enough to work on my second draft. It's really the only thing in my life I can put hope in right now.

Have you expressed your personal pain in your fiction? Has art been cathartic for you?