Alright, so the video may be a bit exaggerated. I’m not actually walking around crying with the hood of my hoodie up. But I sure would like to be. I’ve never been an extremely emotional person. I learned at an early age how to hold it in, and never stopped. That is, until I started writing. When I was writing, I discovered I could pour my emotions out on the page. Dump them in a single furious scurry of the hand across the page, rather than bottle them up like a corpse in a casket. I’m not an emotional person, but I’m an overly emotional writer. And because I do perspective work, it hurts. I have actually begun to experience physical pain when the character I’m writing as in the story gets injured. It’s much like the sympathy pain you may feel for a friend, but even stronger and more concentrated.
I may be crazy, but really, I think most good writers are. You have to be, to allow yourself to live the lives of all your characters, to not only listen to the voices in your head, but transcribe your conversations for all to hear. My form of insanity is a very personal one. My characters are part of me, as I am part of them. When they hurt, I hurt. When they cry, I cry. I may not shed a single tear, but it rips my soul to pieces within me. Much of the time, those that know me well are shocked when they read my works. At first, many of them think I’m pulling their legs, because I couldn’t possibly write something so deeply emotional… but writing is how my emotions are expressed. I don’t cry tears from my eyes, but ink from my pen. That’s just the way I am. And in scenes like these… it’s less of a gift than a curse. Talk about a thorn in my flesh.
Finally, because I’m either feeling really nice, or extremely bitter and set on making others suffer my same pain, here’s a short peek at today’s work. This is the only bit I can post without an spoilers, so it’s not nearly the most emotional, but I hope you can feel it… the soul shards, digging into your heart the way they did mine.
They jerk me to my feet, and my head spins with the action. Blood soaks through my jacket and shirt, wetting my skin from my shoulders down, and I can’t tell how much is actually mine. It grows increasingly difficult to focus my eyes, and my head aches. I search frantically for Colleen, desperate to find her and get her out. One of the hands grabs me by the hair, jerking my head back as a kick collapses my knees. I hit the ground hard, forced to look up towards one of the gentle yellow lights. A dark figure looms above me, gun in hand, and I feel it come to rest upon my forehead. The shop goes quiet, with only the sound of my heart drumming in my ears.
Maybe Colleen got away already. It would have been easy to miss the bells in the ruckus, and she might have taken the back exit. I shut my eyes, the cool metal of the gun pressing into my skin firmly. I can feel my assailant’s finger move to the trigger, and slowly begin to compress it.
“Wait!” A voice calls out. No! Get out of here!My eyes fly open once more. I would recognize that feminine tone anywhere. Stupid girl! Get out of here while you still can! The gun pulls away slightly, and I try to pull away from my captor, preparing to attempt getting her out of here. Pain shoots from my shoulder like a kick from a horse, nearly causing me to black out, and I gasp.