You Don’t Have to be Miserable to Write Good Poetry

by michelle agaron

Good writing always begins with a tortured writer—or does it? Throughout history, we’ve seen multiple examples of renowned artists owing their ingenuity to their afflictions, whether it be mental illness, addiction or severe trauma. Although the idea itself isn’t particularly new, the sentiment seems to have spread to the point of convincing creators that it is impossible to write if you’re not steeped in grief. 

I’m going to take you back to 2017 for a moment. If you’ve seen La La Land, you probably remember the line “A bit of madness is key.” A fairly innocuous piece of advice, but how much is a bit? What happens when we channel all of our madness into our work? Does madness necessarily need to be channeled into creativity or is it better to experience on its own? Most importantly, does madness alone delineate the path to creative genius? 

The other day, I was talking to a fellow writer friend about the tone of my poetry. We both agreed that I tend to embody the “sad boi” stereotype more than any other. If you’re not familiar with that term, boy do I have some news for you. Either you’re not a member of Gen Z or you live a fairly carefree, content life. Probably the first one, because a bit of madness is—

Okay, okay, I’ll give it a rest. 

Here’s the thing: The reason I rarely step out of my comfort zone and attempt to write from a more positive, hopeful perspective is because I’m worried I won’t be able to. I’ve grown used to writing from a melancholy state of mind, reaching for metaphors, similes and imagery and grasping them easily. When it comes to more positive writing, I’d make a hearty attempt, struggle to find the words, and eventually revert back to the mold I’d created for myself.

Returning to my oh-so-wise friend (they’re paying me to say this), who has a penchant for writing pieces that envelop the reader in warm, nostalgic memories, the solution to this limitation on your creativity may be rooted in your approach to managing emotions in general.

Sampled directly from a text they sent me during one of our nightly emotional exchanges: “You need to rewrite the narrative you’re telling yourself that being sad is your default.” 

If this resonates with you, please know that the only thing you’re good for isn’t your misery. Not even your heartbreak or your grief. If you believe that your default is feeling low and that true artistry only emerges when you sink even lower, you’re doing a disservice to yourself. 

You’re telling the vulnerable human resting in your core that your happiness is second to your misery. 

So, where do we go from here? We need to begin with a willingness to challenge ourselves. Nothing about this is easy. Challenging our minds to use a well of emotions we don’t usually dip into is going to take practice. If we want to broaden our ability to utilize a variety of emotions in our work, we have to maintain a continuous goal. 

At first glance, this will seem like an overwhelming endeavour. Maybe even an impossible one. Trust me, I know exactly where you’re coming from because I’m still on my journey to writing through an emotional lens that isn’t always tinted blue. 

Let’s start small.

I began by writing something bittersweet—one foot in my comfort zone, the other outside of it. The process of writing a poem from this unfamiliar precipice challenged me significantly. I struggled and I doubted myself (as I usually do), but I finished my poem and I’m submitting it for The Comma’s weekly prompt tonight. The word was “zesty.”

I think it’s only fitting to share an excerpt from that poem:

i’ve always liked the orange starbursts best:
something about their zest
something about this life
something about witnessing
the zest
     coursing
          through
              this little life.

All this to say: I don’t have all the answers, but I do know that we can start here. We can start with the zest coursing through this life and expand outwards as we grow in our abilities and in our belief in ourselves.