So OK. This past week I thought I would get a lot of writing done on The Magdalene Poems as I had very few outside appointments to take me away from the work. And, I’m happy to report, I did get a lot of writing done…just not poetry.
I wrote a story! Do you know how long it’s been since I wrote a short story? Me neither, it’s been that long! But there it was, bubbling away in my brain, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until I wrote it down. And it’s a quirky one, and a dark one, and when I mentioned it to The Mister he said, “Why do you write what you write?”
Good question.
It’s more than just cheap therapy; more than just purging. It’s confronting the shadow side of my life, one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. And it’s something I have to do over and over or my writing will have no meaning. Mind you, I do sometimes shrink from the challenge of being that kind of honest. Last week, someone came across a copy of “holy cards: dead women talking,” and labelled it “evil stuff,” and expressed disappointment that I would write “that sort of thing.” And I confess when I went back to my writing desk I entertained the notion of writing some lighter pieces, work that would be less likely to offend. But that’s not me. That’s not what I’m here for.
My writing is not for everyone, I’m the first to admit. But I’m not writing for everyone. I can’t. I can only write for myself, and if some people think it’s good, great! And if some people think it’s evil, great! Either way, you’ll find me toiling away at my desk, writing the best I can. And that’s how I answered my Mister’s question about why I write what I write.
It’s what I do.
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