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1. What do blonde bombshell Marilyn Monroe and novelist Virginia Woolf have in common? What about pop star Britney Spears and poet Sylvia Plath? Manic-depression, otherwise known as bipolar disorder, is a mood disorder punctuated by heavenly highs and hellish lows. It is both a gift and a curse. I am both blessed and afflicted with the condition and the illness. Hollywood A-Listers Catherine Zeta-Jones and Ben Stiller, former heads of state Prime Minster Winston Churchill, and even President Bill Clinton, have been reported to have it, too. What is it about bipolar disorder and greatness? The population of writers, artists, poets, political and business leaders have been said to be more than likely to be manic-depressive? Does this explain why I almost always feel great (except when I’m having a depressive episode)? Will I be great, too, or is that just one of my delusions of grandeur? I actually love being bipolar. Okay, I hate it sometimes. But I have to admit, the good things about being bipolar outweigh the bad.
2. Despite a plenitude of literature supporting the correlation between creativity and bipolar disorder, it still remains a main theme in many a scientific and literary writings. It puzzles and befuddles me, albeit being manic-depressive myself, how a person of extraordinary talent like Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath could take their own lives. Were they born at a wrong time? Could they have been saved from themselves had the proper medications been available during their time or would they have refused them? Britney Spears is lucky she was born during these times. She would have eaten her children alive has she lived during the times of Plath and Woolf. She would have given them a run for their money and drive them crazy, er, crazy-er.
3. Novelists, short story writers, poets, essayists, memoirists, scriptwriters, biographers, and playwrights — these creative writers — have to be creative, and have to go beyond the realm of “normal professional, journalistic, academic, or technical forms of literature (Wikipedia’s definition of creative writing)” — and to go beyond the bounds of logical and scientific thinking. Journalists’, academicians’, scientists’, and even bloggers’, writings are based on hard facts and supporting evidences, logic, numbers, formulas, and equations. Creative writers, on the other, have to make use of imagination, feelings, experiences, and memories, and make use of literary acrobatics in order to produce a work of art, a literary masterpiece produced from their fertile minds. They don’t rely or base their writings on universal truths, postulates, theories, or hypotheses. I am more of the creative sort. I think the creative sort is superior to the scientific and logical-thinking writers. Don’t bite my head off, science writers and journalists. Jeez. It’s not my fault you weren’t born with the superior creative mind of the certifiable.
4. There are times when in one of my manic episodes, times when my entire being is wrapped up in a glorious wave of euphoria, I feel indestructibly superhuman. I can do anything and everything without going to sleep for days, my thoughts racing with a plethora of ideas that seem to spring out of nowhere like the brainchild of Zeus or one of the Greek gods. My thoughts crystallized, senses heightened, energy bottomlessed. See, I just made up a word. How creative can that get?
5. And at the other end of the mood spectrum, during my depressive episodes — times when I get deluged by an inexplicable surge of hopelessness, I become a shadow of my former indestructibly superhuman hyperself. I can’t do anything but get fraught with anxiety, riddled with guilt, and unable to concentrate. My mind and body horizontally languishing away in bed the whole day. What was once pleasurable would seem an automated routine of tedious tasks. What was once done out of passion and love would seem an exasperating and fruitless exercise. Labor of love turns into labor of hate. Passion turns into a stone of indifference. Life becomes the Angel of Death. I know, right?
6. So, what exactly is it about bipolar disorder that seems to almost always tend to produce creativity? Or is it the other way around? Is creativity the one that triggers a dormant bipolar disorder? Well, I really don’t know the whole truth. All I know is I wouldn’t love thinking, reading, and writing a much as I do now if I was just a normal, sane person. What pushes me to write, to be a prolific and accomplished writer, I believe, is this tinge of madness — this chemically imbalanced pendulum of manic-depression. To be a creative writer, one has to have at least a substantial amount of life experiences because different life experiences produce different kinds of emotions, memories, and insight necessary to bring to life convincing and relatable characters, and to tell a story as conceivably and believably life-like as possible. And empathy, the ability to not only feel what the other person is feeling, but to actually be the other person, I believe, is the most natural trait of a manic-depressive. You know why I know? Because I can feel it.
7. The interior world of a bipolar person is a hodgepodge of emotions, a veritable niagara of thoughts and feelings supplied by an overactive imagination and obsessive-compulsive behavior, exacerbated by real-life traumas, hopes, fantasies, and experiences. In short, we are self-absorbed, we love to live inside our heads, talk to ourselves, try out different personalities, and pretend to God, an English lord, a mad scientist, a celebrated author, or one of our characters in our book because there is so much going on in our head it’s practically a world within a world within a world. A universe of worlds! Oh, I’m telling you, it’s an asylum of characters and plots inside my genius skull. If you had half my brain, you would realize that. But I guess only a few people are as gifted as me — or cursed — depending on how you look at it. Alright, let’s just go with gifted, then.
8. Oh, I could go on and on and on and on. The question is, can you handle it? Hmmm. I thought so. But hey, if Britney Spears is up for a lovely chat, I’d be more than willing to discuss with her our future accommodations at the Betty Ford Clinic. Britney, if you’re reading this, call me? Oh, I forget. You don’t read. Okay, to the agent or publicist of Britney, you know what to do.
9. Just like the Author Profile and Book Review series in this blog, this Racing Thoughts Of A Creative Writer No. 1 post is the first in a series of my opinions, thoughts, and views about books, writing, politics, business, bipolar disorder, films, and entertainment. This will be a collection of my reflections, essays, and creative musings. This is a literary blog but it doesn’t have to be all that literary. I like to mix it up with things that are relevant to the times like “Is Obama Really A Muslim? If So, Does That Mean There Could Be A Fourth Lady?,” or “Is Piolo Pascual Really Gay? Because If He Is, What’s His Number?,” or “Is Hilary Clinton A Lesbian? If Yes, Did She Also Have An Affair With Monica Lewinsky?,” or “Why Are Catholics Born With Original Sin? Isn’t That Just A Bit Tad Unfair?” I have a lot of questions about everything and opinions on practically anything. So, if you’re reading this and following this blog, you are one lucky son of a fan, because you will be entitled to my opinion.
10. If you want to know my answers to the questions I asked on no. 9, how the hell should I know? I ask the questions around here, you give the answers. Capisce?
So, here’s the thing,
I am bipolar, so is Britney.
And if you follow this blog,
we’ll drive you crazy.
Hey, I just wrote a poem. Well, what do you know? I’m a poet, too! Take that, Sylvia Plath!
Books About Bipolar Disorder:
I subscribe to the notion that rich people are more interesting when they do crazy things like murder, embezzlement, fraud, rape, or homicide; or when they act crazy or somewhat crazy like those with manic-depression, schizophrenia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and any philias associated with rich people. If you read back on some of my posts, it wouldn’t be hard to tell what my obsessions and thoughts are. Along with Dominick Dunne, I know two other authors also subscribe to this notion, Alan Hollinghurst and Louis Auchincloss.
I first saw Dominic Dunne‘s novel, People Like Us, at my favorite thrift bookstore, Booksale, three or four years ago. I was intrigued by the synopsis so I decided to buy a copy. When I got home, I started reading it. I devoured the book. I finished it in one sitting. Since People Like Us, I started collecting some of his most famous bestselling novels and collection of essays. Just like the first novel of his that I read, the others that followed didn’t disappoint. His novels and writings, in retrospect, became my standard of good storytelling, beautiful writing technique, journalistic integrity, and literary restraint.
His name became synonymous with O.J. Simpson, William Kennedy Smith, the Menendez brothers, and John Sweeney — people who allegedly, in their respective order, murdered his wife, raped and accidentally killed a teenage girl, committed parricide, and murdered Dominick’s own daughter. Their public trials were regarded as the The Trials of The Century, and Dominick Dunne always had the best view — the front row seats in all of them. His fixation with famous people committing crimes made him a star reporter for honestly writing about his opinions about the trial and the defendants on his column at Vanity Fair, and for courageously voicing out his personal verdicts and judgments on TV shows and news bigwigs like CNN. As a result, this made him the the toast of Hollywood’s and New York’s movers and shakers.
HE WAS ONE OF THEM
His work gave him access to the highest of American Society and earned him the adulation of his admiring society lady friends and the contempt and disgust of his powerful archenemies whom he criticized and portrayed in his satires. Coming from a privileged family and a WASP background worked even more to his advantage, as the parties he was invited to required a sense of security in oneself and refinement innate only to those who were born groomed for a life of endless socializing and small talk with narcissists and people who had never been denied anything.
Whether it’s an expository piece about the trial of his daughter’s murderer, John Sweeney and his first-row seat experiences at the O.J, Simpson trial for Vanity Fair, penning a novel about rich people doing the unspeakable and the unthinkable, or writing his memoirs infused with anecdotes of his friendships with Hollywood royalty like Elizabeth Taylor and Diane Keaton, first ladies like Imelda Marcos, society doyennes like Betsy Bloomingdale, European aristocrats like Claus and Sunny Von Bulow, and arms dealer heavyweights like Adnan Khashoggi, Dominick Dunne’s writings are always terrifyingly entertaining and scathingly honest.
For writing to be effective and good, they say, you must write about what you know and read about. Without a speck of doubt, Dominick Dunne wrote not only about who he knows or what he reads, he also wrote about who he knows and what books those people he knows read — successfully and eloquently did just that. He had wined and dined with names equivalent to power and status: Windsor, Von Furstenburg, Astor, Woodland, Hutton, Reagan, and Kissinger; some he reputedly repeatedly maligned. (Well, don’t they all say that?)
PAYING THE PRICE FOR BEING A WRITER
So, the questions remains: Would they have trusted him had most of them knew he was going to write about them? Maybe yes, maybe not. Still, he had to do what any good writer would have done: draw inspiration from real life and translate them into honest words, and then write them down onto the eager pages of white sheets of paper.
He lost friends along the way, gained the animosity of others. He was good at dropping names, and sometimes he dropped those names strewn together in sentences like murder, scandal, adulteress, and fraud. He knew he would someday pay the price. And pay he did.
For telling things unfiltered through his bespectacled and filtered eyes, Dominick Dunne paid a hefty price.
BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
I have read almost all of Dunne’s books save for three or four more. Here are a list of his novels that I’ve already read:
“Dominick Dunne was born October 29, 1925, to a wealthy family in Hartford, Connecticut. He worked in television in New York and later produced films in Hollywood. After a battle with alcoholism and drug abuse, he began writing novels. He wrote about the trial of his daughter’s murderer for Vanity Fair and then covered other trials for the magazine, including O. J. Simpson‘s. Dunne died in 2009.”
Bianca Barrett, the protagonist and daughter of a Welsh Surveyor and his Palestinian wife, becomes an “ambitious and mercenary” social climber and double murderess. Charming and well educated, Bianca marries four times and advances in wealth and social influence. With Bernardo, her first husband, Bianca has three children; they lose their son in a tragic car accident. After a divorce, she marries the rich Fredie whose family owns the Piedraplata commercial empire. Before it comes to a divorce, the second husband is shot and killed by a hitman who makes it look like a suicide. The killing is arranged by her lover, Phillipe Mahfud, and Bianca becomes the financial beneficiary. After a brief marriage to husband number three, – she had married him only to make Mahfud jealous-, she lastly marries Mahfud, a superrich Iraqi businessman and banker. When their relationship sours, the banker dies with his nurse in a mysterious fire in his apartment in the tax haven of Andorra. Bianca’s lawyers pay off the police and investigators, and the only justice that remains is in the court of public opinion.
Guilty or not guilty? Murder. A Beautiful Socialite Wife. Two Dead Rich Husbands. Billion-Dollar Fortune. Who could resist such a scrumptious story? I know I can’t. A roman a clef about the life of one of the richest women in the world, Empress Bianca is a novel that was banned for publication because of billionairess Lily Safra, the real woman the main character was based on, used all her resources and conceivable powers and stopped the novel from being printed and circulated for public consumption, more specifically, for the consumption of the international creme dela creme–the rarified social and economic circles of fund-raising socialites, and empire-building billionaires in which Lily moves.
To better understand why the book was so controversial, an excerpt from Wikipedia reads, in part: “Empress Bianca, the first novel by Lady Colin Campbell, was initially published in June, 2005. One month later, Arcadia Books, the British publisher, withdrew the book and pulped all unsold copies in reaction to a legal threat intiated on behalf of Lily Safra under her interpretation that the book was a defamatory roman a clef. After some changes the book was republished in the United States in 2008 by Dynasty Press.”
After reading the novel, I decided to get a copy of the autobiography of Mrs. Safra, Gilded Lily by Isabel Vincent. I must say that I am convinced that Bianca is Lily under the facade of fiction. But you’ll have to read both books to see what I mean. Well, fiction or nonfiction, as the case may well be, Empress Bianca is a novel that portrays the life of the fashionable set through the lucid prose of Lady Colin — the characters are relatable, story wonderfully crafted and told. In fact, there is one character I could especially relate to — Bianca’s second husband, Ferdinand Piedraplata. He’s manic-depressive like me. It’s one of those characters with whom you can identify yourself with because you are him. It was as if Lady Colin was describing me and telling my story (well, except for the dead and supper rich part).
If you are someone who likes to read social headlines or wants to know what goes in and out of the world of social-climbing murderesses, Type A bankers, and mercurial entrepreneurs, you will love this book. Alluring, charming, and scathing, Empress Bianca incredibly captures the world of a woman who has risen from a middle-class background to the uppermost echelons of international society by marrying two fabulously wealthy men, and quite possibly, by killing them, too. She might have never been tried for the controversial deaths (or murders) of her husbands, but that does make her any less innocent? A tale of intrigue, mystery, and crime of epic proportions, Empress Bianca is an “unputdownable” pageturner that will leave you wanting for a sequel.
Rating: 5 of 5 stars