The Insanity Defense
Aspiring fiction authors can be classified in any number of ways, but among the most prominent categories seem to be "uncannily brilliant," "deeply devoted to substance abuse" and "just plain nuts." The jury is divided about which camp I fall into, but at last poll the Twelve Angry Critics leaned heavily toward acquittal by virtue of insanity.
Frankly, after much rumination, I've decided an insanity defense is the only plausible one for We Who Are Determined to Embarrass Ourselves by Committing Tripe to Paper. There's
my contract somewhere? I’d like to see a label like the ones pharmaceutical companies are required to include with medications: “WARNING: Possible side effects of the writing life may include spreading hips, estrangement from family and friends, deteriorating eyesight, insomnia, abbreviated attention span, inability to abandon lost causes, crabbiness, extended periods of depression punctuated by brief euphoria, loss of interest in the real world, self-doubt, a tendency to woolgather at odd moments, and talking to people who don’t exist.”
Kathleen Rice Adams
plenty of evidence, after all—at least in my case. What else but insanity could explain the devolution of an otherwise relatively well-adjusted, reasonably intelligent, fairly articulate person into a raving lunatic who engages in lengthy conversations with imaginary friends.No one warned me about this unnerving possibility when I signed on to write fiction. Shouldn’t there be a clause in
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