"Did he just go crazy and fall asleep?"

~Firefly

So I've noticed something about writing... Y'know how some writers get their greatest inspiration, they create their finest works in moments of greatest depression, self-doubt, and darkness.

I'm not one of them.

It's odd, but I'm not sure if I get down because I don't persist in writing enough (writing certainly can turn a down day into a, up one)--or maybe when I'm down I just don't write.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? :)

As you can see though, I'm writing today. Today's been pretty decent. It's not raining, but it probably will this week! Yay! (Yes, I'm one of those weirdos, don't hate me)

But it's still an interesting question. To put it differently (& in a simpler fashion):
Do I write because I'm happy?
Or does writing make me happy?

Not that I haven't written when I'm down, but ... that was usually poetry, and I don't count that. I don't know how most poets write, but for myself I can honestly say that the poetry muse only moves in me occasionally--and that's the only time any poetry I write is worthwhile. She also moves very unpredictably in me... but that's another post.

Also on writing, I finished another journal today. It was red with a shiny gold pattern, and it was hardback. The pages were beautiful, a light red (oh alright, pink) with a more solid toned pattern on the edge where the lines for writing stopped. Her name was CoraSueño, Heart's Dream (I know, that's not the literal Spanish translation, it's a name I made up so I don't care! :P).

R.I.P. CoraSueño, may your last page be filled with beautiful dreams.