I've just finished writing a couple of chapters in which, to cut to the chase, the guy gets the gal and a couple of good men die. A simple formula, you'd think, one we all use in one form or another, surely?
So why is it that after writing something like this I get up for a break and find my heart aches in my chest, my eyes are heavy and my head pounds with pain as though I was the woman swept off her feet against her better judgement, following her heart instead of her head; as though I was the one who cradled the boy in my arms while my tears dripped onto his face, watching the light going out of his eyes as the last breath leaves his body.
Is this normal? Is this something I should be worrying about?
If it is normal and you all share this experience, which I suspect you do, then I think writers are grossly under-valued for what they do. I feel wrung out like a wet rag.
So why is it that after writing something like this I get up for a break and find my heart aches in my chest, my eyes are heavy and my head pounds with pain as though I was the woman swept off her feet against her better judgement, following her heart instead of her head; as though I was the one who cradled the boy in my arms while my tears dripped onto his face, watching the light going out of his eyes as the last breath leaves his body.
Is this normal? Is this something I should be worrying about?
If it is normal and you all share this experience, which I suspect you do, then I think writers are grossly under-valued for what they do. I feel wrung out like a wet rag.