I am not a depressing person. I love humor and comedy. I make up my life by seeing beauty, by noticing small ironies... even by imagining the beauty and irony, symbolism and redeeming moments I cannot find in the real world. In my books, my characters encounter frightening things, horrible circumstances, but I would never consider it a depressing story. On the contrary. I find their story a hopeful one, an assurance that the promise of new beginnings and happy endings can unfold for anyone.
Yet, there is someone out there (actually, a few more than just a someone) that tells me my posts make him/her want to jump off a bridge. Okay, so here's my attempt at being light and humorous. Here's my try at taking my readers off the bridge and letting them swim (not drown) in the water.
Huh, I guess I could get carried away writing about a clown called Chuckles who works at the Pirate Circus. Then again, when I think of writing that, I instantly want to turn the pirates into clown-hunting ghosts. Would that be depressing? You tell me!
I think laughter is the most therapeutic activity a person can do... the MOST. There are times when I laugh, and it's all I can do to stop. I laugh, not even really about anything. And I know everyone in the room is staring me down, reaching for the phone to cal Bellevue. But there's something inside of me that doesn't want to quit, a holding I grasp for into a happier world. I laugh because there are times I know if I wasn't laughing, I'd be crying.
Okay, again I think I'm straying into the depressing zone. Should we debate the validity of leprechauns and the myth of the rainbow? Or is destroying that hope too depressing to bear?
Yeah, so this post is going completely catastrophic! Really, all this attempt at levity is making ME want to jump off a bridge. Goodnight, my readers. Yes, both of you.