I know a lot of creative people. In fact, just about everybody I know pursues some kind of creative endeavor. A few are musicians (even if that isn’t their day job), others are painters, but most are writers and editors. They’re all hanging in there from day to day, paying the bills, minding the children, and getting it done, whatever “it” is that they do.
Some people think that creative types are inherently a little “off.” That comes with the territory. We live in our heads while most people live in the wider world. We hear music no one else hears, see things that don’t exist until we create them. We spend a lot of time with people we know intimately, people we’ve created and who we put through excruciating circumstances, whose emotions we feel as strongly as our own.
If that weren’t enough, some of us also spend time researching obscure facts or historical events so we can put them in our books. Like spies, however, we often find we can’t discuss our work. The details of disease vectors during the Black Plague don’t make good dinner table conversation with one’s in-laws.
And we do all this while trying to find someone who is willing to pay us for our efforts. We have to stubbornly believe in our selves and our work even while the world is shrugging and turning away.
So yes, sometimes we seem a little peculiar.
You don’t have to be crazy to be an artist. But I know a number of people who think it helps.