(noun) a strong feeling of enthusiasm or excitement for something or about doing somethingWriting with sarc-brain is a frustration, a painful struggle. Sometimes I feel like a starved woman gagged and bound at a feast. All my creativity is at full-throttle, but I can't corral any of the thoughts ricocheting around in my head.
It's maddening to sit for hours, trying to pull all the little sparkles of ideas together onto paper the way they strut through my mind. My mind creates the picture. I can see the picture, but I can't draw it. The characters and the words they speak are real and vivid inside my imagination, but they log-jam into confusion on their way out and onto paper.
The other day, I almost broke down and cried.
At this point in my life, when I am tied into myself with this "cognitive disorder," I regret having been so responsible before I got ill. I wish I had gifted myself with a year or two of selfishness. I could have gone off and locked myself in a cheap apartment to just write.
"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." Ray BradburyThis sarc is my reality. It is what I think about in the early mornings when I am trying to navigate the worlds I've created with my fiction.
In every other part of my life, I've figured out (mostly) how to control the ways sarc impacts me as a person. I function, I manage, I live. I just cannot figure out how to get my stories written from beginning to middle to end. At first, the puzzle pieces to the plots come together beautifully, but then - as the minutes and hours past, they shift and drift apart in my head. I can spend days at a time, trying to collect them back into their proper place. For three years now, I've been trying to collect them. I always end up standing somewhere on shore, watching them ebb and flow, bump and collide.
I believe this is a form of madness.
The most frustrating thing about having this disease is that no one can "see" it. There's no physical badge of impairment. Unless I'm wearing heels and trip over some invisible obstacle, you'd never know there was something wrong with me. Maybe I'll get excited when talking about something and stutter or stringtogethermywords. You might think I've been drinking. Sometimes I have. Most times I haven't. But if I thought it would help...
The best thing about having sarc is that the people who love me still find me lovable. And amusing. (That amuses me, unless it pisses me off.)
Do I think that I could (even without sarc) be a "great" writer? That's never mattered to me. All I've ever wanted was to have at least one book out there with my name on the cover. Writing fiction is a form of history-keeping. I only ever wanted to tell the stories about people and places I know. They are good and interesting people and places. The world should have the chance to enjoy reading about them.
Will I stop writing? Nope. I'm just losing hope of being read.