All my life I’ve been a drama queen.  While this comes in handy in my profession, it is a distinct disadvantage in real life.  I ache over Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, and Rachmanifnoff.  They speak a musical language that goes straight to my soul.  To me, Anna Karenina is the greatest of all books, because Tolstoy understands the human condition better than any other author I have read.  The number of disastrous romances I had as a young adult defies counting.  Truly.  There were that many, including a death and a schizophrenic fiance.

As most of my readers know,I am bi-polar.  So were my Slavic greats.  Genetically we speak to one another in a language that is the most intelligible there is for us.  Such a would-be Slav am I that I got both my graduate and undergraduate degrees in Slavic history, politics, and economics.

My finest work as a novelist is about the fall of a great Slavic Empire, and is full of tragedy, angst, and neverending love.

Most of you probably do not know that I just went through a semi-emergency hip replacement—my second in six months.  Because of my delicate mental state, these major surgeries are a great trial.  Having overcome my twenty-five year bout with depression only three and a half years ago, you would think that I would remember what it was like.  But, no, the black beast always falls on me, taking me by complete surprise.  It is entirely chemical and only happens after I have blissfully lived in a manic state for close to two weeks.  Then the crash comes.  I can’t begin to describe how horrible it is to revisit this country where I lived for so many years. 

I know there is a God, because as I gained a true testimony of the atonement, I held on until hope came in the form of life-changing medication. 

However, once having lived in that black place, those emotions are never erased.  And that is why every taste I have is informed by Slavic melancholy.  I haven’t known much mania, but that unnatural state is one of high vigilance, seemingly clear vision, and non-stop creativity.  Before my late crash, I wrote for hours every day, starting directly after surgery, and including one complete night.  I plotted a very complex novel, peopled by extraordinary characters and happenings I never would have dreamt in my normal state.   So, it’s a tradeoff.

And that is why I’m Slavic.  I guess my final word on the subject should be thank heavens that:

1.) I live in the day of mood-stabilizers, and

2.) I married a stolid Swede.

Thank you,, Lord.