Once upon a time there were Elven Space Vampires who controlled the galaxy...

     Yep. That was totally a thing. Once upon a time. Guess what? That time is now. Because why shouldn't there be Elven Space Vampires taking over the entire galaxy?
     All right, perhaps I should back up a bit. Many of you know that I've been querying my post-apocalyptic vampire novel. You also know that I am up to 27 rejections. It's harsh, but I remain determined. Determined enough to create Elven Space Vampires.
     Oops, I jumped ahead again.
     One of the hardest things about being rejected is that it is difficult to know why you are being rejected. Is it the writing? Is it the query letter? Is it the fact that the market is no longer ripe for vampires? Or is it some other reason that I've yet to even think of?
     I suspect it might largely be due to the fact that the vampire ship has temporarily sailed, however I hate to simply leave it at that because it seems like a cop out on my part. If I blame it on the market, I'm leaving no accountability for my own writing, and I know that I have room to improve. There is always room to improve.
     Of my 27 queries, only once did I receive a partial request. This lets me know that my rejections were either due to a poor query letter, or the market not having enough fresh blood for the vampires. I suppose the solution is to address both issues. So, much to my discontent, I will be rewriting my query. Because I'm into self-torture. Yep. Writing a query is self-torture. All right, I'm being slightly melodramatic, but hey, I'm a writer. So, to address this issue, I've posted my query and first page on my blog. If you'd like to take part in ripping my query to shreds, see my previous post "Give me your best shot." (Update: I received a ton of good feedback and have taken the post down. Thanks to everyone who contributed.)
     Okay, so I've addressed the query issue. What about the market issue? Never fear. That's where the Elven Space Vampires come in. I've done some research and have discovered that many agents are looking for space operas. Fairy tale reworks are also in style, and high fantasy is still alive and kicking.
     Does this mean I should write a space opera, rework a fairy tale, or create a whole new universe? Nope. By the time I finished that, agents would be looking for something else. So I've come up with a much easier solution: rework my current manuscript. It shouldn't be that hard. I've got vampires taking over Earth. So, I just need to make the vampires come from another planet. Simple.
     As far as the high fantasy elements, I just need to give my vampires pointy ears and Elven magic. Easy. Elven vampires from planet Elvampiter (Hey, I wrote an entire novel, I don't have time to think of a better planet name). Instead of conquering Earth, they conquer multiple planets. Easy.
     Oh, the fairy tale part. I almost forget. I'll just begin with "Once upon a time…" That's all that makes a fairy tale, right? Okay, I guess I can throw in a red cape just to be on the safe side. Yeah, that's it. And my MC can wear glass slippers that give her psychic powers. Awesome. Problem solved. Soon I will have a post-apocalyptic space opera fairy tale urban romantic fantasy. Look for it on shelves near you.
     (If you do happen to see something like this on the shelves, I suggest you run the other way.)
     Feel free to check out my query. Any comments are greatly appreciated. As always, thanks for reading.

The Ugly Green Monster

     I have a confession. I love monsters. If you know me, this comes as no surprise. While vampires are my first love, they are not the only creatures of the night I worship and adore. Ghosts; zombies; wights; werewolves; heck, were-anything; wendigos; chupacabras; demons; you name the monster, I love it. (I apologize to any monsters that have unintentionally been left off the list. I promise, I love you too.) Monsters are so much fun to write about. You can take all the legends and lore and use them however you like, while putting your own spin on things. It's just plain awesome.
     There is, however, one monster I don't like. The ugly green monster. Jealousy. Envy. Resentment. Does anyone feel like they're back in Elementary School? I do, but I feel the need to address this in order to make the feelings go away. I hate the green monster. It lurks inside me, hiding from others, but rearing its ugly head. It's evil, but I can't get rid of it.
     I thought about a stake to the heart, but it's just a giant green blob; I couldn't find its heart. I thought maybe I'd wear garlic to protect myself, but I love garlic so much I just wound up cooking with it. I put salt lines over the windows and doors of my apartment, wore silver jewelry, and even carried around an iron rod. Nothing worked. I guess that means I have to conquer the monster the old-fashioned way: by owning up to my feelings. Shiver.
     I am now up to 27 rejections on my novel, and it's not getting any easier. I have no intention of giving up, but each new rejection is a weight on my shoulders. I've recently started participating in a number of Twitter pitching contests. These contests are great. They help connect writers with other writers and create a sense of community. However, they are pretty competitive. Whenever something is competitive, that means there will be disappointment for someone. As it turns out, I am one of those someones.
     It isn't just the disappointment that bothers me. I know that's a part of the process, and I don't regret trying. What bothers me is that I'm so disappointed that I often have a hard time being happy for those who've succeeded. Looking at the Twitter feed for the most recent contest I entered and seeing everyone talk about how awesome the winners are makes me feel even more heavy with disappointment. Part of me doesn't even want to look at Twitter right now, because it's hard to see everyone cheering about the winners. It's a terrible feeling, but I don't know how to make it go away.
     I think maybe there's a part of me that believes there can only be so many successful people, and if one person succeeds, that's one less spot for me. In the grand scheme of things, I know this isn't true, but I also know these feelings aren't rational. It's not as though I wish bad things upon those who succeed, I just have a hard time feeling happy for them while I'm feeling sad for myself.
     About a year ago, my boyfriend interviewed for a promotion. He was narrowly passed up for the job for another candidate. This other candidate was highly qualified, a great worker, and a great person. My boyfriend was disappointed he didn't get the position, but it was obvious that he was genuinely happy for the other guy. I was both amazed and impressed that he was able to feel both upset for himself and happy for someone else. I would like to achieve those feelings myself one day.
     I don't want to feel this way. I want to be happy for the success of others, and deep down I am, it's just hard not to think about my own lack of success. To be honest, admitting these feelings of jealousy is very hard for me. No one likes the ugly feelings, and no one wants others to know they are having the ugly feelings. I'm hoping that maybe it's like the saying goes: admitting is the first step. If I open up about my jealousy, maybe I can vanquish the monster for good.
     I read through some of the winning entries. They were pretty darn good. Definitely deserving of being the winners. But it doesn't make me feel any better about my 27 rejections.
     If anyone has any thoughts and tips for how to deal with these feelings, please share. If you happen to know of a combination of herbs that will banish the monster, please share that as well.
     As always, thank you for reading.

Am I Doing This Right?

     By "this" I mean social media: Twitter, blogging, Facebook as a means of promotion as opposed to posting cat videos, etc. Though come to think of it, the question can apply to my entire life. Hmmm…it might be best to just stick with the social media aspect of the question, otherwise this post may be as long as my current novel in progress, which is growing like a weed.
     I've spent the past year looking into publishing my first novel. I'm still stuck on the idea of traditional publishing, although self-publishing is not out of the question. Either way, I've heard time and again that I will need to promote myself. Ick. Sales. Marketing. Publicity. It seems like someone's idea of a sick joke. Writers are some of the biggest introverts in the world, and we're expected to market ourselves? Talk ourselves up? Shove our websites in people's faces? Talk to people?  Real live human beings? Ahh! It's frightening. It's almost enough to make me give up. Almost. Since I refuse to give up, I will do the unthinkable and attempt to market myself.
     Shiver.
     Back when blogging first started to become popular, I was completely against the concept. No offense to bloggers out there, but I used to think it was a pretty narcissistic thing to do. To me, it seemed like glorified journaling. I've since seen the error of that thought process, and not just because I'm now a blogger. Among other things, blogging gives a voice to people who might not normally have a voice. Despite having changed my mind about blogging, I balked when I learned that I might have to start a blog. Not because I still thought it was narcissistic, but because there was no way I would have time to blog. Finally, I realized there was no getting around it. I would have to blog. So I did. I share my posts on Facebook and Twitter to get the word out.
     I've now learned that just sharing on Facebook and Twitter isn't enough. I have to find other ways to promote my blog. I have to allow advertising, which can only be done once my blog reaches a certain standard of quality and readership. I have to reach out to other bloggers, get them to like me, volunteer to guest blog, promote myself on sights that talk about the topics I blog about. Ahh! Not only is that a ton of work, but I don't even know how begin to do those things.
     Back when Twitter first became popular, I was completely against the concept. Anyone sensing a theme here? I really just did not understand its purpose. I told myself I would only start using Twitter if absolutely necessary (I'd learned at that point to never say never). Well, apparently it is now absolutely necessary. Turns out, literary agents are all over Twitter. They tweet writing and submitting tips and share things on twitter that they don't share anywhere else. So at the very least, I had to join Twitter to follow agents.
     I've since learned the real purpose of Twitter. It is a wonderful, wonderful place to not only promote yourself, but mingle with people in your profession. In the short time that I've been on Twitter, I've learned many things from agents, and become acquainted with writers just like me. I think I'm actually enjoying it.
     Shiver.
     I now tweet about my writing, share tips when I have them, retweet interesting tweets, and share my blog. But guess what? It still isn't enough. My tweets don't just have to be interesting, they have to be extraordinarily interesting. I have to tweet daily, but not so much that I irritate people. I have to choose optimum times of the day to tweet, so I get the most views. I'm also pretty sure that I'm supposed to be doing a lot of other things I haven't even heard of yet.
     So, back to my original question: Am I doing this right? I'm going to give myself some credit here and say I'm probably doing some things right. I've started putting myself out there, and that's something. Have I done everything I can to promote myself? No, not yet. But I've made a start. Baby steps are better than no steps.
     As always, thank you for reading. Remember: it's only fair to share, sharing is caring, share if you dare, click share while eating a pear, spare a thought for me and share, and don't forget to beware of bears.

A future without books. A nightmare or an inevitable fate?

     In November, 2014, a mystery began to plague residents and visitors of Boulder County, Colorado. Drivers on a lonely stretch of Highway 287 between the cities of Lafayette and Longmont began to notice books scattered all over the highway. The books were on the North and Southbound lanes, as well as the side of the road. The books made their unexplainable appearance quite frequently for several months. The mystery was so baffling that it gained television news coverage. One driver even speculated that the responsible party was perhaps trying to send some sort of message that could be decoded via the titles of the books. That would actually be pretty awesome, aside from the inherent dangers of books being all over the highway and the fact that this is littering in the extreme. Sadly, the true reason behind the books' appearance is a much more despairing tale.
     In April, 2015, a state trooper finally caught the 62 year-old man responsible. He admitted to throwing the books out his truck window on his way to work almost every morning. He claimed he had no idea the books were getting scattered across the highway. He'd assumed they'd landed in a ditch.
     He purchased the books at a used bookstore's going out of business sale several years ago. At first he sold them on Amazon, but could no longer compete with Amazon's pricing. He was left with hundreds of books and nothing to do with them. No library or used bookstore would take them. He didn't see any other choice, so he gradually dumped the books out the window.  (For more on this story, see link at bottom of post.)
     This story makes me very sad. Not the part about the littering, or how the highway was made dangerous for drivers. Sure, those things are bad, but for me the sad part is that the guy truly had no idea what to do with all his books. Books are wonderful amazing things. I don't know what I would do without them. They are thoughts, feelings, whole new worlds, friends when we have nowhere else to turn…books create escapes, provide entertainment, teach us things, cure our boredom, give us hope, make us fall in love… To think that printed books are becoming so abundant that there is nothing to do with them is absolutely devastating.

     I recently began watching the new season of Orange is the New Black. **WARNING** Extremely minor spoiler alert. By minor I mean, yes, I am going to state something that occurred in the show, so technically it is a spoiler. However, what I'm giving away is a very minor plot point and should not actually ruin your enjoyment of the show. But I felt I should still give a warning. Spoiler is from episode 2 of season 3 and will last two paragraphs.

     The women's correctional facility that is the setting of the show became infested with bed bugs. Much to the disappointment of the characters, bed bugs (or possibly muffin crumbs) were found in the pages of a book. They had no choice but to burn all of the books, knowing that they would likely never have the funding to replace them.
     It later occurred to me that lack of reading material in prisons is probably a real issue. Although the story of the man who threw his books all over the highway is extreme, his problem is becoming more and more prevalant. As online subscription services like Kindle Unlimited and Oyster take over, more and more used book stores and even libraries are forced to close their doors. As fewer and fewer used bookstores exist, there are fewer places to donate books to. It seems that people may not be thinking about all their options. Maybe donating books to prisons is a good idea. It is at least worth a shot before resorting to throwing books away, be it in a garbage can or on the highway.

*******************END OF SPOILER. *********************

     This set me thinking even further. Currently, over-abundance of printed material is an issue, but for how long will this continue to be an issue? More and more people are purchasing e-readers and opting to purchase and read books electronically. Many self-published authors don't even have print versions of their books, or they simply use print-on-demand services, which means a printed copy is only made after it is ordered.
     I initially hated the concept of e-readers, mainly for two reasons. One, it is much riskier to take your e-reader into the hot tub or bathtub. Two, it is much riskier to throw your e-reader across the room when the ending of a book destroys you. (Oh come on, don't tell me you've never thrown a book across the room because you hated the ending.) But even I have begun to love the convenience of the e-reader.
     First, there is instant gratification. In this day and age, society is all about instant gratification. Because of the internet, we no longer possess the patience we once did. Secondly, it is extremely convenient to have all your books in one place. Now, instead of carrying one book with you, you can carry one hundred books. Plus, e-books mean that you no longer have to worry about where to put the many, many books you own.
     The trend towards e-publishing will only continue. What does this mean for the future? More and more books will be electronic only. Even books that are still being printed will have fewer hard copies. This is great. For now. Everything runs on electronics. But what happens if this changes? I'm not talking about the near future. I'm thinking fifty to one hundred years from now. What if something happens and all this information we have stored in virtual space is gone? I'm not a tech person, so I have no idea if this is possible. I am however, a writer of urban fantasy. Therefore, my brain immediately goes to post-apocalyptic terms.
     So, if one day in the future, we lose access to the internet, what happens to all the books written in this decade and the decades to come? Will they just simply cease to exist? That would be tragic. Think about it. There are tons of copies of twentieth century and earlier literature. At least our descendants will have access to the wonderful literature of the past. But what about twenty-first century literature? What if those books simply get lost in space? Scary.
     I realize that this is extreme, but I feel as though it could happen somewhere down the line. While I do enjoy the convenience of e-books, there will always be something special about a printed book. I personally love the way books smell. E-readers don't have the right smell. In the future, I'm going to try to tame some of my needs for instant gratification and purchase more hard copy books. Maybe you should too.
     As always, comments, opinions different than mine, and shares are welcome.
     Here is a link to the article about the man dumping books on the highway:

http://www.timescall.com/news/crime/ci_27975732/state-patrol-tickets-dumped-books-287-longmont

Surgery update

     As I mentioned in my last post, I had surgery a week ago. I haven't worked on my novel, blogged, or done any writing of any kind since then, as I've been recovering and on too many drugs to know how to properly put together a sentence.
     Staying away from writing causes me almost as much pain as my ankle does. Seriously. I hate being unable to do the thing I love. I know it's temporary, but I have all these wonderful projects on hold and I desperately want to finish them. But I figure I can at least write an update on my surgery because, given the topic, this one can be exempt from the usual grammatical and coherency standards.
     Speaking of coherent blogs, I've been frequently checking out blogs I find via Twitter. If a title looks interesting, I click on it. I'm coming across a disappointing number of blogs that are poorly written and in desperate need of editing and spell-check. I stop reading these. I don't understand why people don't bother to edit their blogs. No one will read it if it isn't legible. You might as well just write a private journal.  Edit your blogs, people! Otherwise it is a waste of everyone's time. All right, rant over.
     Okay, so, my surgery went well, as you might have guessed, otherwise I probably wouldn't be writing this. The doctor discovered 2 diseased tendons (I think that means they were torn). He repaired them and also tightened a nearby ligament in order to better support the tendons. He thinks the tendons had a bad reaction to the sutures used in the surgery back in October. I asked why the ligament repaired in October didn't have that problem, and he doesn't know why. I had been concerned that I'd re-injured something by exercising too much, and I'm glad to know this wasn't the case. Hopefully, everything will be okay this time and I can heal properly and start taking walks again. I miss taking walks. Among other things.
     Prior to surgery, I was sitting in the waiting room with my mom. The nurse calls up Mary (this is my first name, which I pretty much only go by at doctors offices). While my mom and I gathered up my crutches and oxygen, the nurse was giving us a really weird look. Finally, she asked who was having surgery. I said it was me, and then she asked me my last name. Apparently she had called up the wrong Mary. After finding the correct Mary, I was left in the waiting room to…wait for it…wait. At least they discovered the mix-up and I didn't have that other Mary's eye surgery. That would not have helped my ankle. Nor would my ankle surgery have helped her eyes.
     Random woman named Mary, I hope your eyes are doing well.
     Once I was checked in and wearing the correct name tag, a nurse was putting the IV in my arm. I watched an air bubble float down the tube and I started freaking out because on TV, air bubbles are bad. People die from injecting air bubbles.
     The nurse patiently explained to me that this is flat out bullshit. Air bubbles are really common and totally harmless. Then she went on a rant (rightly so) about how annoying TV and movies are. She also mentioned how stupid it is in the movies that patients are always left unattended, giving the bad guy ample free time to just walk in and kill someone. She assured me that this is not realistic. There are always nurses, doctors, and other staff everywhere. I felt comforted knowing that air bubbles and murderers were not going to be my undoing.
     While we were waiting, I started explaining to my mom what my current novel was about. The nurse walked in just as I was explaining that it's a, "Young adult, mystery, suspense, horror."
     The nurse warned, "Don't put air bubbles in someone's IV." It was funny. But maybe you had to be there. But I'm glad you weren't. That would've been weird.
      Eventually, I had surgery. Upon waking, I was much more disoriented than I had been after my previous surgery.  Actually, I had temporary amnesia, which was frightening. When the nurses told me surgery was over, I started freaking out. I was like, "I didn't have surgery! That was in October!" For a few short minutes it was like I was in a horror film, but luckily, my memory came back in about five to ten minutes. I went home and began resting. And resting.
     And resting.
     And resting some more.
     It really is not that exciting. I'm laying in bed, elevating my leg. I can't walk without crutches, so I can't do a whole lot. I'm in pain, so it's difficult to get any writing done. My brain is very foggy. I can't even read books that are overly complex. I was in the process of tackling "Crime and Punishment" prior to surgery. That is currently on hold. Not an easy read on drugs.
     In case anyone was wondering, using crutches while on drugs is not easy. At all. I'm dizzy and out of it and trying to stumble through the apartment on one foot. Plus, my cat is constantly walking right in  front of me or sitting in the middle of the hall. I think he's trying to kill me.
     I had my follow-up the other day. The doctor said my ankle looks good. I don't know why. I think it looks awful. It's swollen, bruised, stained with orange dye and blue ink, and is all wrinkly and dry. But apparently all that is normal, and I'm doing well. Yay!
     I have two more weeks of no-weight bearing. Hopefully my brain can clear a little bit and I can get a little writing done in the next couple weeks!
     Right now, I'm off to crawl across the apartment for a cup of coffee. Yes, crawl. There are only 2 ways to carry a cup of hot coffee right now. One is to crawl across the floor. The other is to use my rolling computer chair. The chair doesn't roll very well on carpet, so it actually takes less effort to crawl. So I'm going to crawl. Sure, it lacks dignity, but who cares about dignity when there is coffee involved.
   

I'm having surgery tomorrow!

     I don't know about that exclamation point. I thought if I sounded excited about it, maybe I'd feel better. Like the title says, tomorrow I am undergoing surgery on my left ankle. Back in October, I had surgery on this ankle to repair a ligament and a tendon. The ligament is doing awesome, but the tendon is not. The MRI didn't provide an entirely clear picture of what the problem is, so the surgery is mostly exploratory. The doctor will repair anything that needs repaired.
     Despite the implications of my title, I'm not thrilled about this, because who gets excited about surgery? I do know that it is the best option at this point. I've been resting, elevating my leg, and using a walking boot for two months since the pain increased, and nothing has gotten better. The good news is, I have a new doctor, and he seems more thorough than the previous one.
     Since I've been injured, people will frequently ask, "What happened?" Valid question, right? Yes, but not always an easy one to answer. It started out simple, but as time passed, the answer got more and more complicated.
      "I fell and sprained my ankle."
      "I had a sprain that didn't heal, so I had surgery."
      "I'm still recovering from surgery."
      "I fell at work while assisting a client walk. He tripped and bumped my knee as he fell. I lost my balance and went down with him. After three months of a gel cast and physical therapy I had surgery to repair a ligament. Several months after surgery, once I became active again, we noticed that I had a tendon that wasn't healed. Now I'm having surgery again."
     Is anyone asleep yet? I don't blame you if you are. Nobody wants to hear all of that, especially when we're on an elevator or standing in line at the grocery store. I'm beginning to think I should make something up, yet I have yet to think of anything interesting. I know, shame on me. I'm a writer, I should be able to think of something. In my defense, I've been putting most of my energy into my novel and my blog. If anyone has any creative ideas about how I injured myself, feel free to share them. The winner gets bragging writes.
     Since I've already had a very similar surgery less than a year ago, I know what to expect. My boyfriend says this is a good thing. He's right to an extent, but it also means that I know what to expect. Pain. Nausea. Potential vomiting. Pain. My cat trying to sit on my foot. The fun of crutches. The agony of having an itch buried underneath a cast. The dignity of scooting up the stairs to my second floor apartment.
     Worst of all, I have come to fear the very idea of being in intense pain. The kind of pain that's so bad  you feel nauseous, you can't sleep, you can't think, and sometimes you can hardly even speak. The kind of pain that makes you want to scream for it to stop. That right there is the frightening part. When you're in so much pain that you feel like you don't even exist, all you are is a giant nerve of pain.
     I realize I'm being a bit dramatic, but I'm a writer. It's what we do. I've gotten through these moments before, and I know I'll get through them again, but it's difficult not to dread them.
     What I'm really upset about is the idea that I might have to take a short break from writing while I'm recovering. I know it will probably just be a week or so before I'll have the energy to write again, but right now that feels like a very long time. I write nearly everyday. The only days I don't are when I'm so burned out I have to force myself to take a break. My novel is like my child. It is a part of me. My characters feel real. They are real. I think about them all the time. The idea of leaving them even for a short period is almost painful.
     Hopefully, time will pass quickly as I binge watch Netfilx and read the various books I've lined up. I already can't wait to get back to my masterpiece. (Hopefully it's a masterpiece.) Wish me luck.
 

   

The reality of trauma and taking our characters to the darkest of places.

     Before I begin I would like to make you aware that this is a controversial topic. It is a topic that has been coming up a lot lately, thanks in part to HBO. Please know that everything I’m about to say is purely my own opinion, which is based on things I’ve seen, heard, felt, and experienced. I’m always open to hearing new opinions, as long as they are put forth in a constructive, non-argumentative fashion.

     I believe that in order to elevate a story to new heights, you must take your characters to the darkest possible places. Why do I think this? Because life is suffering, and fiction is about life. It doesn’t matter if your story is set in a fictional universe. If your characters are human, or creatures with qualities even remotely similar to humans, then your story is about life. Bad things happen in real life. All the time. Therefore, they have to happen in fiction as well.

     In order to take your characters to these dark places, traumatic events must take place.

For the purposes of this discussion, I’m going to focus on rape. Unfortunately, rape happens. It is real. It happens every day, to women and men. Sometimes people don’t want to think about it, but that isn’t going to make it go away. Rape occurs much more frequently than statistics will tell us because a vast number of victims never report it. I never did, and I wish that I had.

     Therefore, why shouldn’t fictional characters experience rape? It is a real thing that really happens. If you want your story to be real, you must include real events, even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones. No one wants to read a story where nothing bad ever happens. That would be boring and unrealistic.

     I am going to very briefly mention HBO’s Game of Thrones, simply as an example. Unless you have never seen a single episode ever, there will be no spoilers. Promise. One of the reasons why it has become so controversial to explore rape in fiction is due to the graphic way in which HBO has depicted some of the rapes that have taken place in the story. It has sparked a lot of debate on what is okay and what isn’t. Okay, end of Game of Thrones talk. See? I kept it brief.

    In my opinion, the problem isn’t the fact that rape is taking place in fiction. The problem lies in the graphic depictions of the event. I do not believe writers need to describe intricate details of a rape. To be clear, I’m referring to the actual physical act. What is important, and sometimes necessary, is to describe the details leading up to the event and what happened afterwards. It is absolutely necessary to describe the way the victim feels. But the event itself? Unnecessary. It is traumatizing for the reader and leaves us feeling violated. I realize that the distinction I am trying to make here is a very, very fine line, one that I am currently tiptoeing across in my own writing.

      My current work in progress heavily explores rape and its aftermath. I hadn’t initially intended it to be such a major theme, but the story led me down that path. Yes, my stories and my characters lead me, not the other way around. I have not written out a rape scene, nor will I ever do this. Ever. However, what I have done is have characters describe their experiences out loud to other characters. I have one particular monologue that comes very close to crossing the line I have described above. It’s even possible that I have crossed that line, and am simply in denial about it. It’s a work in progress, so I can always dial it back if I have to.  

     These scenes have not been easy for me to write, not in the slightest. I’ve cried during a number of scenes, been forced to take breaks, and needed to journal about my feelings afterwards. Why am I writing about topics that are emotionally difficult for me? Because in order for a character to reach that dark place, the writer has to reach it as well. If a writer isn’t emotionally invested in something, the reader isn’t going to feel it either. Only by touching the darkest places within ourselves can our writing truly shine. And yes, writing this blog post has made me a bit emotional. My stomach is flip-flopping, I had a teary-eyed moment a few paragraphs back, and I am a little light-headed. I think that means I should keep going.  

     My point is that I do not believe these subjects should be ignored. By ignoring them in fiction, we risk ignoring them in real life. Exploring trauma in fiction allows us to explore the different ways in which victims cope and heal (or not) from these events. We can address how the rest of the world reacts and hopefully make readers more aware of real-life issues. Writers have a responsibility to be aware of how their depiction affects their readers. I’m not saying that my way is the only right way, or that I’m even doing everything right. I hope I am, and I aim to continue to learn and grow as a writer. I am always open to new ideas. While I expect my readers to feel hurt over what’s happened to my characters, I absolutely do not want them to feel so traumatized they can’t continue reading. Like I said, it is a fine line, and I welcome any tips on staying on that line.

Please feel free to share your thoughts and opinions, even if they differ from my own. I only ask that people keep comments constructive and non-confrontational. Everyone has a right to their own opinion. As always, thank you for reading, commenting, sharing, etc.