A lot of great artists have suffered for their craft, Van Gogh being an obvious one. There are many writers that have struggled with depression and various other ailments. In one of my flights of fantasy I picture myself as a great author, yes I know slightly insane I’ve not even finished my book yet but bear with me.
I may lack the writing skill to be a great author but I can claim the suffering part. I have always had trouble with my legs and knees in particular. A mixture of low blood pressure, carrying too much weight and varicose veins. (In case the description of myself is driving some of you single ladies or men wild with desire I should point out I’m already taken – sorry!). This can be made worse by sitting still for long periods while writing. When I remember I do get up and walk around the flat a few times, much to the amusement of my family, it isn’t too bad. The other Sunday I had one of those rare days where I sat I wrote for about 5 hours, no one bothered me, the ideas were following. The only noise was the clicking of my gaming keyboard and the music in the background. Unfortunately, when I had to answer the call of nature I discovered I could barely walk. So now I have ticked one box to becoming great, suffering, how does one get talent, order it from amazon probably?
A thought has just occurred to me, Van Gogh didn’t make any money from his art, umm maybe suffering isn’t such a great plan after all.