STEPHEN FRY

X-D Heh - guilty here, too.

I filled up an entire notepad with incomprehensible gibberish after getting rather stoned and gorging myself on my flatmate's chicken like some primal creature. And I don't even want to get started on what I've written when drunk.

LSD might have created some interesting prose on the one occasion that I tried it, if I hadn't been in the mindset where I probably would have thought my computer was a giant mechanical venus fly trap.


Which doesn't really, but will regardless, bring me to my next statement: 'Bollix' really should have been a character in Asterix.

My lord, I think you might be right

That's going to cheer me up all day


>>>EDIT: And meandering vaguely back on topic, see my signature for a link to my own creative whimsy, so you chaps and chapettes can get a vague idea of what I was talking about.<<<

Glad to hear it, chum Very good news indeed.

All the best - I'm confident you'll be just fine.

it's quite an old topic but I'll reply anyway...

I am most productive when I'm a my lowest. Not productive in any way that would bring me money or anything but productive meaning that I write a lot. There was a time some years ago when I kept 3 different blogs at the same time, some of them still exist, some have been deleted but everything is saved on my harddisk.
in 2003 my mother was in a mental hospital for several months, for the second time. the first time she was there I was 14 and stayed at my granparents' for the time my mother was away.
in 2003 I was 18 and I refused to stay anywhere else but home. because my mother not being there meant that I could be there. The last weeks before she went to the hospital it was unbearable for me to be home. She would just sit in the kitchen for hours and stare at the floor. she would try to cook something and forget halfway through and let it burn. she would stand at the window, staring out and thinking that "they" were observing her.
I just couldn't stand it and stayed out (with my horse) as long as I could and then I would sneak in and go straight to bed.
When she was gone, it was "home" again. I know it sounds awful. I only went to visit her once or twice. I knew it wasn't fair but I also knew I couldn't handle seeing her locked up somewhere she didn't want to be. An act of self-protection, I guess.
No one knew that my mother was in hospital, not because I was ashamed but because I didn't want any pity, I wanted to handle it alone.
Of course, this wasn't good for me. I played strong. But I was weak. I felt like the biggest heap of shit, I had let my mother down, I had let them take her away, she wanted nothing more than to see me and I didn't go. But I knew if I saw her I would start to cry and I didn't want her to see me crying. And I didn't want to see her crying.
I tried to protect myself from the outside world but I forgot that we can never protect us from ourselves. So I started to hurt myself again, stopped eating properly and wrote like a madwoman. Dark stuff, short stories all ending in suicide, poems about corpses, even the slightest sign of light got extinguished as soon as the first happy word escaped through my fingertips onto the keyboard.

Sorry, I just realised that I have written way more than I wanted...

What I was trying to say was that I usually write a lot when I'm really down but can't be bothered to as much as touch a pen or keyboard when I'm happy. I haven't been particularly happy for as long as I can remember, but in the last six years I had several "writing episodes". For the last months I was in a neutral mood, indifferent about everything. that's not too bad, not low enough to start writing like a maniac again but not particularly happy.
And it's odd, I kind of enjoy those low episodes because then I feel like I'm [i]doing[/] something. I keep myself busy at the moment, working, walking, riding, always listening to music (except when I'm walking), always running around. that's how I try to stop myself from starting to write again, writing down the tiniest shreds of thoughts and ideas...
But I'm not sure. Maybe I should just start writing on purpose before I get any lower? I wrote a short story for a writing contest 2 months ago and although I only started writing about 24 hours before it was due, I got that high feeling again. when I'm writing, I feel like the king of the universe, totally invulnerable, even immortal. but only for the time I'm typing or scribbling.
Odd. As if I'm trying to cure a low with a self induced high. isn't that what drugs do? Maybe I should start writing again...

(again: SORRY for babbling around. and SORRY for my English.)