The Assembly of Wonder

As the adage goes, depression is anger turned inward. Where does this anger come from? It probably begins with birth, when you are taken from a warm, dark space and emerge into a cold hospital room. There are any number of experiences that can produce anger, and once absorbed, it turns into depression. There is also the role of neurochemicals such as serotonin and norepinephrine. Lower levels make you susceptible to anger and depression. One prime example of anger in literature is the Count of Monte Cristo in the title of the same name. Edmond Dantes, before he became a count, is wrongfully accused by four persons, and he winds up in a dank prison for fourteen years, but makes a remarkable escape. Angry at his accusers, he turns his rage toward revenge, which he accomplishes in slow stages. But little things can make you angry, such as the bad behavior of other drivers on the road or simply being brushed against in a crowd. Constant anger is a sign of mental illness and drives itself i...

Beauty is mysterious and painful to behold and can come from the obscure and unexpected, such as the hand of a homeless person or the smile of a pig or a short story by a friend. Regarding writing, as I think about it, I'm never looking for beauty in writing, but when I see it, I am astonished and somewhat stricken. I think of Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich or The Pearl by John Steinbeck or The Color Purple by Alice Walker. The beauty is unexpected and deeply affective, making one a bit queasy and uncomfortable.  The first reaction to beauty is surprise. The second is awe. The third is a desire to run away and hide. After thirty or so pages into Love Medicine, I felt sick and put the book away, unable to fully embrace the stories, seeing them as emeralds or rubies I did not deserve. But, as with great art, I will return one day, soon I hope, and begin reading again, this time forewarned. The grandest example of beauty that I know of, aside from writing, is the perfection and j...

One of my favorite stories is "The Circular Ruins" by Jorge Luis Borges. In the story, a man on a quest seeks to dream another man, creating him during his dreams. He works day by day, creating a hand, a heart, a lung, until his creation is complete and alive. Through my fiction, looking back over the past thirty years, I see that I too have been seeking to create a new man, myself. Much of my fiction is autobiographical, especially the novels. In 1995, I had a complete meltdown, having never considered that I was mentally ill, although I had been seriously challenged since I was a child. No one ever said, "I think you are depressed" or indicated that something was wrong. It was not a possibility. I was just different, suffering long bouts of depression and bursts of mania. My mother was seriously mentally ill, bipolar like me, but she would never consider mental illness and chalked up her pain to the work of the devil.  It wasn't until I was thirty-two, fresh ...

For a while, I've had my sights on writing a detective novel, although I have read very little detective fiction. I've enjoyed the novels of Cara Black and the stories of G.K. Chesterton, but what I really want to write is something more literary along the lines of Borges's "Death and the Compass" or Poe's "Murder in the Rue Morgue."  To that end, a couple of months ago, I sat down to write a detective novel, but soon found that all I had in me was a long short story. It's technically sound but not very interesting. The premise of the story is taken from real life (a man is murdered by the least expected person), but somehow I created a flat story that neither educates nor entertains, according to me.  I think I chose the wrong guy to be the detective. His name is Major, and he's predictably a retired detective who takes on cases at his own expense. He has a trusty partner, Irene, and she's as reliable as a stablecoin. The two work too we...

Part of living with bipolar disorder is the threat of mania or hypomania. One may become hyperfocused and engage in useless behaviors such as spending sprees, or perhaps one becomes paranoid and hypervigilant, losing precious sleep over imagined wrongs. One of the most damaging aspects of a manic episode is hypersexuality, where one sleeps around and seeks ever-increasing sexual stimulation. Eschewing any sort of protection such as condoms, there is the risk of STDs such as HIV, which could be a death sentence. Or you could get someone pregnant, and initiate a cascade of expenses and guilt.  Left untreated, bipolar disorder can destroy a person and damage those around them. Perhaps ironic is that the medications used to treat bipolar disorder, such as antidepressants and antipsychotics, put a dent in one's sexual drive, which is a problem in itself, except that with treatment, one is likely to engage less in risky sexual activity. I've read of sexual predators who, after taking...

I have a routine of teaching and grading assignments, but I also walk my dog, Stella, every day at the River Park in Chattanooga. The River Park follows the edge of the Tennessee River for eight miles. Every day around noon, I ask Stella if she wants to go for a walk, and she emphatically answers, Yes. We walk for about a mile and a half, an out-and-back along the paved trail. We're both a bit old and walk slowly, especially in the heat. I see new faces each day, but I also see regulars, and we nod or wave. My biggest fear is that Stella will poop on the trail, so I first walk her in a large field where she dutifully evacuates her bowels. To me, it's astounding that I do the same things on a daily basis and that I enjoy them. My life growing up was chaotic, my father being in the Army. We moved on average every six months or so until I was in the ninth grade. It always happened that we moved over the holiday break in December, and I had to change schools, which I came to loathe...

I constantly worry if I am worthy of breathing or of venturing to the grocery store. I worry that I will be fired from my job. I worry that the stories I write (for that is what I am, a writer) are too dangerous and depressing. I worry that I can't be more financially supportive of my two beautiful daughters. I worry that my cats and dog get bored.  My writing is where I stretch my imagination and explore the terrible worries. I have been writing stories and novels for some forty years, with a ten-year stretch of poetry in the middle. Without writing, I would fail to understand the choices I have made that have led me to sitting on the porch writing this blog. I have to remind myself that I have fought tooth and nail to be where I am today. Although I worry, I have been the happiest for the past ten years or so, which correlates with how long I have been religious about taking medications that soothe the chemicals in my brain. To be up front, I live with bipolar affective disorder ...