I am getting back to the business of writing. And I’m not talking about the marketing or the editing or those details that enable the craft. I mean I’m getting back to the business of being vulnerable, of opening myself up and allowing all my shit to spill out onto paper. Lately, writing has been a host of challenges. More times than not I find myself dealing with deadlines that tax my creative spirit. Or editorial comments that have transformed my words and my story into something that no longer feels like it belongs to me. When the writing has needed to be cotton-candy like and tied with a pretty pink bow. That kind of writing has been more the norm lately than not. And I’m consciously making the decision to leave it all behind for a while.
I live to write stories that are haunting to one’s spirit. Stories that linger like the sweetest memory of times long lost. I need to get back to the business of writing that put me here in the first place. I need to spin words that might be dirty and ugly, speaking truth that touches someone’s heart in a way no other words before have. Stories that come in damaged boxes, with torn paper, and no pretty bow at all.
My books Rested Waters and Graye are those kind of stories. Both are tales that dig deep holes and will take you places you’d prefer not to go. Stories with characters that are flawed and endings that aren’t neat and perfect.
I need to write what’s in my heart because there’s a story pulling hard at my spirit, determined to be told. So I’m getting back to the business of writing...my way.