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Don’t Make Me Angry; I Can’t Write When I’m Angry

I’m not going to be sharing my thoughts on recently consumed pop culture this evening. Nothing on comic books or trade paperbacks or films or television or novels. I’m not even going to dredge up some old writing and post it in place of more topical content.

The reason? I’m angry. I’m angry about being angry about something completely insignificant and pointless.

It’s a really silly thing, so trivial and utterly worthless that I’m angry about the embarrassment of the incident of anger. And I can’t write angry.

One of my many failings as a writer is my inability to channel the strong emotions and powerful feelings into any type of coherent and legible text. I don’t like writing when I’m angry or sad or despairing or devastated; I feel that I have to approach whatever topic I’m considering from a dispassionate stance. This is possibly due to my training as a scientist, but I want to talk about a piece of art that someone has created through hard work with some respect for that process. So I can’t write when I’m actually angry.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t write about something that has angered me – there are many posts based on irrationally strong reactions to a piece of pop culture (I am a geek, after all) – but I still have to wait until I compile my thoughts.

I’m going to sleep off my anger and hope to feel more reasonable tomorrow morning, so that I can write again.

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