Days like today make me think I should be a writer. There’s just something about dreary, rainy days that make me feel like there is a meaningful story in me, just waiting to be written.
Of course it would be full of angst. Somehow dark, troubled writing feels like “real” writing to me. It has to be balanced with ridiculous romanticism as well, though — Jane must find her Rochester, after all. It’s strange, but writing that celebrates human accomplishment or drips happy self-awareness feel entirely fake to me. And that’s not saying anything about the author of such happy fare; it’s just that I can’t relate to it, even if it is the author’s true experience of life.
If you meet me, you wouldn’t think I’m a dreary, gothic person. And I’m really not, although I do have my pessimistic days. I like puppies and kittens and generally have a very cheery outlook on life.
But if you are going to give me a book to read, I want it to be gray and brooding.
I don’t think I could write a novel, though. No patience at all. Short stories would suit me better. I suppose it would suit my personality. I could write a gothic tale of intrigue and follow it with a story about a cat. Or perhaps the cat would be involved in the gothic intrique….
this could just be Snoopy’s influece…”it was a dark and stormy night” 😉
Gothic cat novels… you could have a real future there. Visions of Catherine Morland and her cat in dark and dreary passages solving romantic mysteries. It might improve Catherine…. since she usually annoys me.
Fabulous! And I’m thinking…there’s no “should be” about it–you ARE a writer!