As a writer, our emotional turmoil gets penned down into our stories whether we let it on that it actually does or not. Sure, I never lost my best friend to a drunken high school party. I've never had four brothers nor have I slept with his best friend. I've never owned a bar or been the girl who gave her baby to her brother in secret. Those are my characters, close to my heart, and definitely not me. But what they represent, what they are experiencing, what their lives and souls are all about are me. The trouble is deciding between what to add and what to expand. That's the trouble with my 'Bar Story' as I've told you. It's difficult to decide what emotions to use and what to keep guarded. It's hard to pick the paths and plans for that story. Maybe in a few years I'll finally find it.
But as a writer, we also use these worlds we create as a place to escape. I don't want to be in my own life at times and I escape to a new town, new world, new life where I have a better control on what happens.
Today has appeared to be a hangover Saturday which would be true post-party if I was in fact hungover. However, it does not shield the fact that I have been in my head all day today whether I want to be or not. My mind cannot wrap around the concept of a previous discussion. I should write it down. I should turn it into a story, spin it and make sense of it. But the problem is that I don't want this for my characters. My stories often end in resolution and a sigh of relief. My characters would appear triumphant in the end but in this case, it is one of self-discovery and self-revelation. My character would have come to this conclusion and walked the path alone at the end.
Real life has consequences. And true emotions that muck up the situation and disrupt the calm. My heart breaks. I can say it all so much better as a writer than vocally. I'm not a storyteller by design. Writing is just another way to play house.
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