Getting out of bed isn’t always the easiest thing, especially on a day with no work and no plans, when the hours stretch in front of you like gaping crevices you need to somehow jump across. What motivation exists to pull you up and into the shower? What point is there to start your day?
In these instances, we must remember that depression is illogical. Because, at least in my case, I can come up with tons of reasons why getting out of bed is a good idea (maybe even 101!), and even more reasons why staying in bed is bad. But my depression doesn’t care. It doesn’t use logic, and it doesn’t want to hear why it would be a good idea to get up and a bad idea to stay under the covers.
And so, to counteract this illogical sluggishness, this blankness in the brain, we have to trick ourselves. Continue reading
The sixth issue of Occasus, an online literary journal from Western University, is out today! This year they were generous enough to publish two poems, a fiction story, a creative nonfiction story, and an experimental piece of mine. I love this journal, and I encourage you to explore it and read work other than my own. I will provide the link below.
To find the specific links to my writing in Occasus, check out my Published Work page. I will be posting all of them there.
And, as always, I must belt out to KEEP WRITING, EVERYONE. Keep creating. Keep being curious and fearless. To create is to be alive. To create is to lose yourself in something bigger than yourself.
Now, to hurry down to my desk in the wall and work on some more stories…
The myth of the Brontë sisters, which mainly surrounds Charlotte and Emily’s childhood stories and poems, physical isolation from the rest of society, inexplicable talent for writing, and early deaths (Anne is mentioned always only briefly, having written novels that were not as popular as Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights), has forever inspired and mystified fans of their writing. It is especially difficult to separate Emily Brontë’s novel, Wuthering Heights, from the girls’ background, with its windy moors and warm fireplaces; its vast, open landscapes and locked rooms.
As Charlotte states in her preface to the 1850 edition of her sister’s novel, “I have just read over Wuthering Heights, and … have gained a definite notion of how it appears to other people — to strangers who knew nothing of the author; who are unacquainted with the locality where the scenes of the story are laid; to whom the inhabitants, the customs, the natural characteristics of the outlying hills and hamlets in the West-Riding of Yorkshire are things alien and unfamiliar. To all such Wuthering Heights must appear a rude and strange production” (37).
Whether we presently live in “the West-Riding of Yorkshire” or not, we must all now admit that we are strangers to the Brontë sisters. Too much time has passed since they wrote. Their books will always remain, if not rude, definitely strange. Continue reading