How Fear Drove Me From “Finishing” a Novel

  
Creating a world from nothing means eventually we have to show it to someone.

How we deal with their comments and whether we understand how they’re trying to help us is all on us.

One year ago, I had my cousin go over one of my stories. It’s a novel and I love the story, but having someone critique it, well, I guess I wasn’t ready for it.

I’ve thought about that story more recently.

The red sand, dancing pictures and who each character is have come to mean something to me and after a year of stops and starts on other stories, it’s time.

Each story is different for every writer, this one left me wanting to write more. I wanted to walk with them, discuss what they were doing and hear them ask, “Why’d you abandon us?”

My only answer, “Fear, I feared going back. Putting you on a table and cutting bits and pieces from who I thought you were and the thought of changing you, well, it scared the shit out of me.”

“But, we were supposed to go places, see things?”

“It’s only temporary. I’m ready to do the work, now that the writing is done it’s time to cut in, take things away and create something worthy of how I see you.”

“Okay, if that’s what you need to do. We’re ready too.”

This conversation may or may not have happened, the point is that a story we create, characters we live with for months and people we learn to love, sometimes we have to kill our darlings.

Killing them, gutting them and distributing who they are around the story, to make it better, that’s why I write.

The hardest part of writing is the killing, gutting and making the story into a cohesive piece of work, rather than an amalgam of what we think it should be.

The story, its characters, what their role is and how each puzzle piece fits into the story, that’s the important stuff, that is what makes us finish something and send it off.

I forgot that and now that I’ve had my discussion with the story, I’m ready to do the work, clean it up and send it off.

The Lie of Chasing Your Dreams

  

Everyone is a creative and everyone dreams. But most people get to a point in their lives where they’re told, either by society, family or themselves, that they have to give up their creative aspirations and get a real job.

Those of us who’ve had this happen, and it should be everyone, have been lied to.

We’ve been told that what we want out of life isn’t as important as what society wants from us.

This lie permeates culture, rots dreams and destroys confidence.

This destruction causes all of us to second guess who we believe ourselves to be and reminds us that society has its own motives.

We must work for the machine. We must strive to make our country better, regardless of th damage it causes to ourselves and who we are.

Never give in to this machine. Be who you are. Create a life for yourself, create and dream.

We need less cogs in the machine and more framers of creativity.

Migraine

It started behind my right ear, dug in deep to the inner cortex and moved towards my frontal lobe, stopping, pushing and holding until I released the pain in a torrent of liquid.

My hearing heightened as if I living in Hell’s Kitchen.

But it didn’t stop, I felt punished and devoid of my thought processes.

My brain, pulsed, ached and pounded within my skull. The force felt like it was splitting through the tissue covering my grey matter, but it didn’t desist, it kept coming, striking and throttling my head .

I lay motionless. My body worn and pushed beneath the surface of who I was.

Each throttling threw my head into my hands as I curled into a fetal position.

I’d regressed until I felt the suddenness of the chemical hit the blood stream.

My hands fell to my sides, my head resting softly against the pillow until my eyes closed and I blacked out.