I started writing Fragments of Fiction as a bit of a lark. It was a spur of the moment impulse that led me down a path that I am still exploring. There are 25,000 words of fiction living in that strangely formatted blog.
From time to time I receive notes from people asking if I have abandoned the story or gotten a bad case of writer’s block. The answer is neither, I haven’t given it up nor have I lost my way. I have found that I am not sure how I want to tie some elements of the plot together and that in general the threads need some work that requires some time and energy. Thus far I haven’t had the time to devote to it.
This story is based upon my experiences and those of my friends and family. None of the characters are real, they are all a combination of people, places, events and most importantly my imagination.
In order to write this story I have tried very hard to recreate the feelings I had at different points in my life. Moments of doubt, indecision, exceptional pain as well as indescribable happiness. In the same way an actor tries to get into character I have tried to cloak myself in the feelings that I thought would be most appropriate for whatever section that I have been writing about. But here is the real kicker, sometimes I have felt like I was back there, back doing whatever it was I was thinking about and it is not always easy trying to dive back into those places.
I didn’t develop the edge I carry without having lived through some things that helped me decide that it was necessary to create it. And sometimes when I go back to those places I am too successful in recreating those feelings. Sometimes the raw emotion sweeps me up in its grasp, clutches at my heart and grabs my soul. I really feel it again, or so it seems.
For a moment I feel crazed, like everything I learned has gone away and I am just lost. But then I realize that I am living in the present and that all I have to do is open my inner eye to see the things that my real eyes see. I am a father to two beautiful children and I have always handled what was thrown at me.
Truth is I feel a little silly writing this down, feel a little goofy and foolish admitting this here. But the rules of the blog dictate honesty and I am not going to lie to myself.
Back to the point of the post. I feel like my writing is more honest, more truthful and simply better when I take myself into those dark little corners and I haven’t been able to spend the time it takes to find the inner blackness.
I suppose that I should be pleased about that because it just speaks to my happiness. And that is all I have to say about this right now.
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