Is there Such a Thing as a Happy Writer?

I was recounting the holiday weekend for a co-worker today and apparently there was something in my voice that sounded like, I don't know...happiness? My boss ( with whom I have a big brother/little sister relationship--i.e. a lot of teasing) said, "This won't do! A happy writer? Is that even allowed?" He was kidding, of course. There has been a lot of Khaliah teasing of late, what with my singing in the hallways of the school, wearing colors other than black, and the perpetual smile on my face--I can't say I'm not obnoxiously happier these days and people have taken notice. But the question of whether or not I, or anyone for that matter, can be a happy writer has stuck with me all day.

Think about the subject matter of some of the greatest novels and stories ever written, they tend to be tales of death, lost loves, unrequited loves, war and other such sadness. My own work tends to take on the darker things in life, even my comedic writing involves dead goldfish and a break-up. Much of that work came about when I was in the throes of one failing love affair or another. Or I was dealing with a less than ideal work situation. Or someone had died. Basically, all the shitty things life serves up, I took and turn it into my art. That's natural. That's whatvwe do. I'm not saying that the introduction of this new element into my life has blocked out all the shit and dirt that makes up our existence. I'm not saying that I
no longer have feelings of self doubt, or that all of a sudden I'm loving life. I mean I am, but not any more or less than before. And because it's still new and somewhat undefined, there's a whole new element of anxiety that's latched itself onto my female brain (you can't
see it but I'm sticking my tongue out at this whole liking a boy thing).

So there's a slight chance I'm looking at things a little differently. And maybe that makes me nervous for my art. Just a little. My school year is ending in a few days. I mean, I'll still
have to work through the 17th and then I'll have two weeks of vacation before I start my new contract (y'all I'm back to working 12 months a year with only a month of summer vacay). I'm
planning on getting a new computer and putting myself to work. But should things continue as
they are, should I remain happy and excited about the prospects that lay before me where is
the pain going to come from? And how will it make it's way onto the page? Sure, I haven't
forgotten the last 15 years, but they seem so far away these days.

So, can a writer be happy and still create literature that is reflects the humsn condition (whatever that may be)? I suppose I'll find out soon.