When I was a teenager I had a hard time.
My life was cake compared to some people and worse than others.
I've always been a middle of the road kinda gal.
I hated school. Hated homework. Hated teachers. Hated the other kids. Hated me. Hated my life.
In order to escape my dull, uninteresting, hateful life, I created stories, mostly in my head, but sometimes I wrote them down.
It was usually about me meeting an awesome famous guy and being whisked away to a more glamorous life.
It didn't matter.
So, it makes sense that when I am feeling low, unloved and bi-polar, that I would write more. In the last 2 days I think I have written almost 15 pages. That may not seem like much, but for me to crank out in 2 days, it's a lot. Granted, most of it is dialogue, and pretty rough, but still very important to the plot.
It's a sucky way to write though. I don't like feeling like that.
But, what are you gonna do?
You have to go where the muse takes you I suppose.