When Writers Get High by Carla Damron

Writers get high. We may not volunteer that little fact about our private, writerly life, but it is a fact. It isn’t something we can consciously control—at least, I haven’t figured that out—but it happens, and it’s an amazing, almost out-of-body feeling, almost impossible to describe. And—here’s the best part—it doesn’t involve using substances.

The last time it happened to me was when I was working on an essay about a frightening experience when I was on a plane with an out of control passenger who nearly caused us to crash. Because it was hard to talk about, it was hard to write about, which made it IMPORTANT to write about. After dancing around the narrative for a few hours, I dove in. It was almost like re-experiencing the trauma itself, only I knew the outcome, so it was safer. I studied every moment from an analytical perspective—what did I feel? What did others feel? What did I see and smell and hear? I used the words often chanted when I was in graduate school: Dig deeper.

The digging helped me excavate somethings about myself: my need for control. My need for human connection. My drive to connect the dots: why did this happen? What did I learn? What was revealed about me—good and bad? How am I better for it? Not all my questions were answered, but the search freed something in me. Again—it’s hard to describe.

I entered “the zone.” (This is the getting high part.) Time became irrelevant. Weather/news/the outside world didn’t matter. I swam in words, in images, and in ideas. My breathing changed. My heart rate increased. I can’t tell you how long it lasted—that’s part of the altered time thing—but much of the afternoon was done when I came out of it.

And my essay draft was complete.

Leaving the zone felt bittersweet. I missed it. I didn’t know when I’d be there again. I studied the draft and did what always helps—reached out to some writer friends. “Would you take a look at this? Anything stand out? Any place where it sags?” Several immediately responded, giving me ideas for strengthening it and suggestions for a title. One had recommendations for submitting it once I was done. Another called me to discuss the project—which meant the world to me. She wanted to hear more about what happened, and had ideas for tweaking the flashback sections so that the energy was sustained. For a moment, in that conversation, I was high again.

I ran into a friend the other day who is an amazing, gifted poet. “How’s the writing?” I asked.

A soft, reflective expression fell across her face. “It’s good. I’ve latched on to something that’s got me up at 4 AM writing. I like where the poem is taking me.”

I gave her the knowing nod of one writer to another. The zone. The high. The random-intermittent-reinforcement that’s nearly impossible to extinguish.

The reason we love to write.

Have you entered “the zone”? What was it like?