The Price I Have to Pay for this Kind of Bliss

This blog entry was originally written on May 5, 2014

I can only write beautiful odes when I am melancholic… My writing muse seems to abandon me whenever i am happy. It feeds on my loneliness, on my sorrows, on my miseries. Without any depressing thought, my creative juices run out.

I had been in four serious relationships (I was always serious, but I don’t know about them). And in each one of them, I was able to come up with written works that had wowed my audience. Apparently, those four relationships were able to maintain that state of melancholia in me.

Now, it’s been four months since I bumped into my newfound happiness, and I haven’t been able to write a single article that I find better than any of the previous ones I have written. The two articles that I have written lately can be classified as “just good enough,” but not impressive at all. I could not find it in me to even update my websites. When I attempted to inject poetry, I was horrified by the result!

Have I lost it in me? Am I no longer capable of emotional outbursts? Will I never write again the same that had moved my readers? No more angst? No more deeply-rooted pain? No more anhedonic episodes? This is quite alarming if I have to worry about where my passion for writing is headed for.

But, hey! Why do I feel such contentment? Maybe I have refused beatitude all too many times by settling for less, that I am no longer used to this kind of lightheartedness. I hope that I get used to it soon, and that my creative juices will come flowing again. It feels like happiness is too overwhelming, it drowned my writing muse away. I just hope that she brought with her some floaters.

However, should my creative juices decide to run dry and my muse, to stay drowned–I guess I will have to accept the fact that this is the price for this kind of bliss.

Post Script:

Upon reading the said article, the sweets responded: “Nice piece! Sorry to have ruined your writing… It’s easy to write about anger, resentment, confusion, and pain because they fuel our passion. We have plenty of friends and acquaintances who are in a rut and always trying to pull themselves out of the pit of despair. Misery loves company, and we, in turn, use our friends as part of the material reference that build our case. Happiness is an enigma that will always be a difficult source of inspiration.”

My heart melted. If this is the price/my prize, well, then–RIP, writing muse! It was a pleasure having you in the 3 decades of my existence!