I hit a wall with my current novel’s outline last week and fell into a depressive episode for a few days. It seemed unsurprising – when I’m writing at a good clip I’m perhaps hypomanic. When my baby was having a scream day, I cheerfully bounced and debugged her, typing in between squalling.
I was once unambiguously addicted to weed. When I was partying a lot, I questioned whether I was addicted to alcohol as well. I concluded no, but that conclusion seems worth explaining right now, as I taper off Ritalin. These three have been "problems" in different ways, so it's interesting to articulate how.
In the immoderate (so we say) planet of Tymek, the stages of adulthood are two. In the first, one sets out to conquer the world. One overextends oneself, takes on ventures that fail, and makes reckless public promises, including oaths for marriages that will detonate in demoniac divorces.
Would I rather have a small shot at emitting what is in me – what is great within me – or would I rather be well known and liked? This was a very difficult question. You might think this an obviously false dichotomy, since being great will let you be known and liked.