Can't Stop Perusing the Neurons

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Can't Stop Perusing the Neurons

vía Broken Whole: a California tale of Craziness, Creativity and Chaos de Keith el 15/12/09

I've gradually come to the conclusion that I don't want to do as much in the way of personal writing as I have done in the past. It's not that I think I've run out of things to say about myself! (After all, I'm getting a whole book published all about me.)

I've been most remiss about writing, of late. My excuses are the usual ones, working had, yadda yadda. I've buckled down to research and read up on how to market your own book. And boy was that an eye-opener. I'd already come to think that the actual writing of a book was only half of the battle - getting published being the other half. Now, given the new online word of blogs, and social networking, I'd say that the writing of the book is more like 10%, if you're to maximize the chances of your book getting noticed.

(Photo of Athens, through a hole in an ancient wall, taken Christmas 2003, by Keith Adams.)

But I suppose the real reason I haven't written lately is that I feel this blog to be in transition, and I haven't yet settled upon how to incorporate some of the new ideas I'm thinking of. When I've had inspiration on a blog topic, it's invariably been about covering an issue related to bipolar disorder in depth, and that's the rub: I don't have time to do that kind of research, unless I make time.

And that brings me to the other cause of the dried up stream: my darned depression will not do as its told, and go quietly back into its cage. It keeps hanging around like a party pooper, suppressing not only the vital spark that gives life to writing, but also the energy and enthusiasm to overcome inertia. I have periods of hours or even days where the depression mysteriously evaporates, and my fervor revives, and I spend hours pouring through literature on marketing your book, and visit online forums to make pungent comments with, oh, a link to my book page. But then, just as abruptly, it rudely returns, and when I'm free of work commitments by the early evening, I no longer have the vim to confront apathy. Truly, depression is not a happy thing to possess if you need to do something that takes as much dedication and self-belief to market your book.

And the thing is, it's entirely a physical disease, in my case. The circumstances of my life could scarcely be better. Yet this thing comes to hang over my head every day. There are two lights at the end of the tunnel however: for the first time in a long time I'm starting up with a new anti-depressant, and, second, as the publication date of my book approaches, I'm hoping that the increased opportunities to mix with people in the literary, media and mental health advocacy spheres will squeeze the depression out.

So there you go. I start off by saying I'm going to write less personal articles, and yet here's a blog entry that's all about my sodden neurons.
(g1)