I've been very bad.
I haven't posted anything for the two weeks, and I offer my sincerest apologies. I wish I could blame my blog coma on a raging cold or an ill-timed laptop crash, but it was purely and simply down to a lack of inspiration.
During this down time, I found myself thinking back to a book I read last year. So, I present to you: art on my mind! It's a memoir today.
Written in the early nineties, it is not the engaging prose or the attractive themes of addiction and depression that did it for me, but - dadada [my drumroll, don't ya just love it?!] - it was the lack of inspiration I was feeling that secured this memoir it's honour.
I present to you: Elizabeth Wurtzel's Prozac Nation: Young and Depressed in America.
Wurtzel's text details her experience growing up with depression, her drug abuse, feeling disconnected with the world, and being one of the first young people to be prescribed Prozac after FDA approval.
Some have found Wurtzel's narrative compelling, dark, a worthy depiction of a woman's depression. Some have found it "whiny" and "self-absorbed". But whatever you may find it, over these past two weeks of emptiness, feeling unmotivated, uninspired, at least I can say, Dammit! At least I feel better than that. It can't be all bad then, can it? After all, battling periods of emptiness and awful drafts of work is all part of the production of art and the life of an artist, so I guess this ties in quite nicely with thewonderwound.
