Getting Over It (à la Snoopy)

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Prior to my winter travels, I surfed out a fairly pitiful period of isolated, suburban existence. (Boo-hoo. See this entry.) I’ve thought a lot, then, about misery and creativity: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Are the two mutually exclusive, or do they actually feed one another?

Years ago, my writer-philosopher friend was at once lost and found when he fell in love with his wife-to-be. “But if I’m happy,” he reasoned, “what will I have to write about?” The two are still married, and my friend is a banker. Did true, utterly fulfilled love kill his creativity?

David Lynch seems to accept no excuses for losing touch with the creative force, countering that, If you’re an artist, you’ve got to know about anger without being restricted by it.”

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