Past Reminders

I find it interesting, reading the words I have written.

Lately, I have been trying to make it a weekly habit to participate in the Weekly Writing Challenge on HitRecord.

I try to be kind to myself, to not force the words to come. If my story is only 250 words, so be it. If it has a different edge to it, fine. (Yes. I still overanalyze and judge the words).

But I have found something interesting through this constant flow of my subconscious. Even though the stories are guided by a prompt of someone else's choosing, my strongest emotions still work their way through.

For example, this last week, the prompt was to write a story about a Kaiju. In the examples, there was a blend of destruction and chaos and the experience of those whose homes were destroyed by these supposed monsters, but none of those felt true to my heart. I thought about it for less time than I thought I was going to, and then the words found their way.

My monster was not a monster at all. It was a large creature that had ended up in a city full of scared people simply responding to its unknown origins. It meant no harm, yet, was badly wounded.

Sprinkled within my descriptions, I noticed my frustration with the lack of understanding for the unknown. I saw the very thing that had angered me so early in the morning gently spilling onto the screen in a way that people could connect without realizing.

The last few weeks, I've realized that this happens more often than I am aware of. Some weeks, I share my little stories with some friends and family. Depending on the responses (both by the people I send it to and those commenting on the site), it is shared more or less broadly.

There has been more than one time that I am surprised by the response. I wasn't expecting such strong reactions. I was simply speaking my truths and using the prompts as an anchor. It was not my intention to stir emotions in others, though, I can't say I minded. It's quite the compliment to have someone respond to something that I felt so deeply when I was writing.

Now, I'm trying to not let these compliments be my driving force because I wholly believe that the words I write need my truth behind them for my intention to be seen. If I let myself fall into pleasing everyone else, I lose that.

So, I take you to my latest revelation and the true purpose of this blog.

Recently, I finished a book that I started back in March. Don't get me wrong, the book wasn't bad. It was actually quite amazing. However, it spoke of a time that felt too close to what I was experiencing in my own world: The Time of Hitler. Before you start placing your assumptions that I am comparing our own current leader to Hitler, take a moment to follow me on this short journey.

The book was written from the experience of a man who had been discharged from the war and sent to lead a new life as a father and husband to a widow. His experiences of fear and oppression and the struggle to stay afloat, that's what felt too close to home. We are living in a place of fear of anyone that seems different than us.

If you immediately created a correlation of our president to Hitler, that's on you. I'm not asking you to compare him. I'm asking you to compare the experiences of immigrants. Of people of color. Of the homeless. Whether or not I compare the president to Hilter in my free time is for me to know, and for you to ask if you don't already know and have an intense need to.

Ok. Jumping off my soapbox. Back to my point.

So, this book. At the end, there was a note from the author. She explained that there was a specific event that forced her to finally move forward in writing and publishing the book. She had been thinking about it for years before finally taking the dive.

While I was finishing that book, a book I had long forgotten shoved its way back into my life. This was a book that was leaked some twelve years ago. The author was so disheartened by it. She felt betrayed and was unsure if she would ever finish. I tried to put myself in her shoes. I tried to imagine someone blatantly stealing my art and trying to get a buck from it.

While I understand that this first book I am writing holds none of that glory, it's still painful to think about.

So, this book from the past. A book that I consumed over and over when it was leaked (the author shared an incomplete version to her website after some hard speculation)... I had completely forgotten.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, it was buried. I saw the title and a part of me went, "Wait... don't I already have this?" I didn't have it. But a piece of me knew it, and I couldn't find the energy or time to figure out why.

So, I purchased it. I started reading. It took a page or two before I realized that I knew the words. I didn't just know them from the previous books in the series. I knew these words. That's when I realized I had read them some twelve years before.

Now that you're along with me on this journey, I'll let you know that the book is Midnight Sun. It is part of the Twilight series but from Edward's point of view. I said it fifteen years ago, and I continue to say it now, I adore book Edward. The movies don't capture the depth woven into the words of the story. And, I get it. Someone saw a tween romance about a sparkly vampire and ran with it.

I didn't see it that way, so I'm still hella salty about those movies. Yes, they got slightly better as they went on, but I still prefer the version that plays in my head.

So, what the fuck is my point?

My point is, as I have been reading (and listening) to the latest Twilight book, I realized something. I was experiencing. I was living. I was part of the words on the page. It made me wonder what my own characters would be doing right now. It made me want to love the words I keep trying to share.

It was a new sensation. I've been finding ways to avoid sharing them (my characters) with the world for the last four years. And, why? Well, fear. Disappointment. Anxiety.

So, yesterday, for the first time in a while, I looked over my words. And I didn't just look at them with a technical eye looking for mistakes, I paid attention to what I was feeling. I wanted to find the love I feel for my characters in the words on the page. So, I started to add in bits and pieces of who they are. How I want them to be seen by the world. I allowed them to come to life more. I didn't feel the need to hold part of them back in protection of the naysayers.

Just as is with life, I can't protect everything and everyone around me. At some point, things have to just move on as they will. People will have to fend for themselves. My characters will have to become their own powerful existence. I can't be there to defend and explain things along the way.

I accept that there will be people that don't grasp what is there. And there is always a possibility that my words will be transformed to a screen that will remove some of the depth hidden within those words, but if I can find a way to make people fall in love with the story, then it won't matter.

There will always be someone willing to stand up for my words. Someone to defend the validity behind them. Just as I have done, and will continue to do, with the Twilight books.