I stopped writing about what I thought I should say years ago. I started writing about what needed to be said. I found myself dancing around subject matters, around situations and even around certain people, and I avoided writing about them. Sometimes, it was matters of the heart, or the poor decision making skills of others, and even mean, cruel behavior directed at me. But if all of these things happened to me, why wasn't I talking about it? Why wasn't I writing about it? I discovered, I was trying to protect others but dishonoring myself at the same time. Almost as if I was filled with emotions about certain life events, and these emotions were bottled because I never thought I had the right to share them. Once I figured this out, I started talking about and writing about the circumstances that lead up each building block of who I am today. Every positive, negative, hurtful, joyous, profound and life changing event, I was now going to explore them.
My mother and husband were the only people that ever said...Maybe you shouldn't write about that. They were warning me and also trying to protect me. My mother knew that by writing about certain things, I would probably hurt someones feelings. (If I told the truth). My husband knew that I would offend friends and family for possessing and talking about an unpopular opinion. (Political and Faith Based) Rather than lie or even avoid at all costs, I started writing, and editing and editing some more. Pulling offensive, even hurtful or inflammatory phrases and finding ways to explain my personal experience rather than incriminating someone else based on their absurd actions or lack of communication skills.
I often run ideas or stories I am working on by my husband. He observed me toiling as a deadline was looming, he said, "Stop trying to figure out how to say it the right way and just say it. He knows you are a writer. If he wanted you to write amazing stories about him and his character, maybe he wouldn't have said what he said and treated you that way." My husband was so right. I needed to just write about what happened.
When Coffee Shop Blue's was published a year and half ago, the editor never edited my story. The response email read, " How is it possible that you sounded wounded and triumphant all at the same time?" My response, "He was horrible to me, and will never be my friend again. He hurt me and rattled me to the core, but he didn't win. I will probably be hurt again, and again. But then those are two more stories I will have to write about."
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