Sunday, July 22, 2007
I didn't set out to write a pathetic character, per se. Didn't think she had more problems than anyone else, had loneliness and pain, but who doesn't? Self-medicated a bit, had some close personal relationships she shouldn't. Someone who was not me, even though everyone would think she was. That's what a good story does, of course. Plays with those expectations. When I was young, I read the confessionals and when my high school teacher said that they stripped the mask off their writing, made it real, I replied that I thought presenting a stripped mask was as much of a mask as all the others. This is me, believe me, you know the routine. And parts of it are, the important parts. That's what makes it so risky.
Didn't help that when I workshopped the story, I showed up with a huge black eye, looking really worse for the wear after a night of self-medicating it. Looked like my character in fact! What a coincidence! No matter that a child had given me the black eye after playing My Pretty Ponies, a wicked head butt and presto, two weeks of bruises every color of the rainbow. And a story about a mildly abused woman to present the next day. Sure you ran into a door. Sure you were "playing with ponies." I waited for a response to my story, the moment of truth every writer fears, my head on the chopping block. You, dear reader, can write what happens next.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"“No greater grief than to remember days of gladness when sorrow is at hand.” Friedrich von Schiller
Drinking short story collection suggestion: I Am Having An Adventure Perri Klass
Benedictions and Maledictions
Much peace and love to the family of Tammy Faye and to her beautiful spirit which exists now as it ever did.