I believe strongly that if I were a talented and creative writer I would be happy for the rest of my life. I would not need anything else. I would write and write and write until I was physically incapable of doing so.
I also believe that if a writer is talented enough - he/she doesn’t need creativity/inspiration. He/she can write about mundane crap and enjoy doing it. He/she could make the mundane seem interesting.
Are my beliefs even remotely true? Are talented writers happy? Or is unhappiness a pre-requisit for talent?
Some talented writers are perfectly happy (e.g., Isaac Asimov, Samuel R. Delany, John Barth, John Updike, Joyce Carol Oates, etc.). Others are not (e.g., Sylvia Plath, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allen Poe). You can’t generalize.
One of my English professors this last semester is a talented writer and published author and he seems to be a pretty happy guy. On the other hand, another of my professors, a prolific writer and photographer of considerable skill (who has done work that is probably familiar to at least some Dopers) seems to be a bit on the depressed side; on his optimistic days he’ll tell you that at least some of his problems might be resolved in therapy. So I guess it just depends.
I’m moderately talented and creative–or, at least, that’s what I’ve been told. I can’t believe it, though; therefore, it doesn’t make me happy. Make of that what you will.
Yep. Some are and some aren’t. Sometimes crap comes down the pike just like any other career and you’re not happy. It’s not like being a talented, successful, published writer is an innoculation against misery.
Actually I think I know more miserable angst ridden writers than I know cheerful ones. It’s dumb to say that being a talented writer equates to happiness. Would you say that about any other career?
