Psychology And Sorrow

I have a perfectly legitimate and functional excuse for the absence of a blog post on Tuesday. (eh, maybe not.) My entire excuse is summed up in one word: Psychology. Or, if that is not satisfying, I can explain it all in five words: Four hour morning Psychology class. In truth, dear reader, this is not a strong enough excuse. Indeed, no excuse is strong enough to justify how I have failed you. I apologize from, to use a cliche expression, the deepest depths of my heart.

I enjoy my psychology class. I enjoy seeing the theories. I enjoy analyzing people (a thing I do anyway), and learning the hidden ways the mind works. Psychology is great for developing characters, but it is not great for my mental stability. (Working 9PM to1AM several nights probably doesn't help either.) This last Wednesday I was so exhausted from Psychology and work that I caught myself talking out loud to myself several times. Still, the psychological research has shown that writers (particularly fiction writers) have a 75% to have some sort of mental disorder during their lifetimes. So, I'm not really that surprised that I am talking to myself already. Overall, my Psychology class is giving me interesting character ideas and is teaching me how to develop those characters into more lifelike forms. Psychology teaches me how to connect characters with common human characteristics.

Now on the subject of sorrow,  it plays a very interesting role in the life of a writer. Recently, as in just this last Monday, I attended the funeral of my grandmother. She had lived along 95 years, it was a good life, a life worthy to admire. We loved her dearly. I take consolation in the fact that she is in the presence of her Lord and Savior now. She was a godly woman. She will be sorely missed.
An interesting thing is the fact that the sorrow at the funeral was subtle, there was no loud weeping, yet it was prevalent. It was sorrow mingled with a deep respect for my grandmother. This combination still puzzles me.

I spent most of the visitation pondering how I could comfort people in my writing who were experiencing sorrow. I am glad, in some ways, for the death of my grandmother. One, she is no longer in pain. Two, she is with God. And three, I now have experienced the death of a loved one and I can now communicate comfort for those experiencing similar sorrow. It was a good, but sorrowful experience.

Ah, the life of a writer! It is a very interesting one indeed!
Rest in peace, Grandma. I will always remember you.