Last night after bitching about what a process writing is for me, I got to thinking about some of my favorite writers and how messed up they actually were. I started to wonder: were they messed up to begin with, and that's why they wrote - or did they write, and that's what messed them up? Chicken, egg. I guess it doesn't really matter which came first, since in the end they were ultimately both things: messed up, and writer. Their craziness is not necessarily what defines them, but it certainly makes for some good reading.
here are six brilliant, tormented, fucked-up folks
who also happen to be some of the most celebrated writers in modern history: