Ernest Hemmingway was an alcoholic wasn't he? And Fitzgerald. And a quick google search actually resulted in this list of writers who were alcoholics too.
I think you have to be a little bit unstable to allow imaginary voices the power over you to make them real.
I love Smirnoff coolers, but not at dysfunctional quantities. Usually. My vices are Diet Coke and chocolate. I've given up DC several times, a few times for years, but have fallen back off the wagon, especially on my writing days. It helps to keep the voices flowing. And what goes better with DC than chocolate? Specifically an over sized Reese peanut butter cup.
So I may die early of obesity or an aspartame induced brain tumour, but artists are worth more dead, anyway, right?
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