My brother bought me Stephen King’s book on the writer’s craft aptly named On Writing. I really wasn’t all that fired up about reading a book on writing (sounds boring) but what started out as a quick scan quickly became a serious read in what turned out to be an informal memoir as well a fascinating tutorial. It was in this first half of the book in which Mr. King talks of his addiction to alcohol and drugs. One part in particular really grabbed my attention, where he states “the idea that the creative process and mind-altering substances are entwined is one of the great pop-intellectual myths of our time.”
King names writers like Hemmingway, Fitzgerald, and Dylan Thomas as those most recently who have perpetuated the myth, but one of the first alky authors and my favorite is Edgar Allen Poe. Poe once wrote, “I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness, and a dread of some strange impending doom.” He eventually died after literally being found in the gutter after a six day drinking binge.
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It would seem that our society has taken the same view almost glorifying in the addictive destruction of our most talented artists as if it was the fuel of their passion. An ironic example of this belief is the mysterious visitor who leaves a graveside a bottle of cognac on every eve of Poe’s birthday. As if the very substance that killed both the man and his art is some kind of tribute; in my opinion this would be no better than leaving a lump of coal every year on a grave of a man who died of black lung… tasteless.
King counters Poe’s explanation that his alcoholism is something more than an addiction with a statement that obviously comes from some brutal introspection.
Substance-abusing writers are just substance abusers—common garden-variety drunks and druggies, in other words. Any claims that the drugs and alcohol are necessary to dull a finer sensibility are just the usual self serving bullshit… It doesn’t matter if you’re James Jones, John Cheever, or a stew bum snoozing in Penn Station; for an addict, the right to the drink or drug of choice must be preserved at all costs. Hemmingway and Fitzgerald didn’t drink because they were creative, alienated, or morally weak. They drank because it’s what alkies are wired up to do.~On Writing
Poe’s final words as he passed away from chronic liver disease and other ailments brought on by his drinking were “Lord help my poor soul.” Not exactly the words of renowned poet and writer, but just the standard prose of an everyday alcoholic. Contrary to popular belief yet proven time and time again by the Poe’s and Cobain’s of fame, alcohol and drugs don’t fuel the creative process; they kill it.
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gravesite is also constantly littered with empty bottles. Kinda sad.
I have often wondered about Anne Sexton’s writing habits–I love her writing and the fact that she died so young as an indirect result of her drinking (depression—suicide) often saddens me deeply because if she had continued living the world would have even more of her beautiful verse.
Great post!!!
I recently read a citation of Baudelaire who wrote a book about wine, hash and opium. The quote says something like: what hash gives to creativity with one hand it takes back with the other (in terms of productivity).
I’d be interested to know more about great writers and artists who didn’t drink or drug. I didn’t know Poe died from or lived such an unpleasant existence.