Sometimes

I truly thank God for all the people I have in life. There is this amazing level of love in me right now and I am feeling very contented.

My gift is writing, which is something I've known for a long time. It is hardly arrogance, because this inevitably includes the admission that writing is the one and only thing I can do without batting too heavy an eyelid. But I am changing. I am growing and improving and finding the transformation incredibly exhilarating. And the writing is changing - the lexicon increasingly exact, the drama less intense. Je me demande si c'est bonnes nouvelles? Because I know that my writing lives on roping people in on a do-or-die ultimatum, and often has a dramatic, almost surreal, edge to it that compulses a certain imagination.

What does this mean for me as a writer if I can only write when I am in my own pool of self-pity? Have I traded in my creativity for my sanity?

Maybe what I have to remember is that when I was 'insane', the creativity was induced. Now, perhaps some sort of real creativity will ensue. It has to.

Please.