K.C. Hamby's Blog, page 2
August 28, 2018
Announcements of Sorts
Hi all!
I have released a sneak peak of the front of Chosen Book 2 on my twitter.
Most of my updates come from twitter, so feel free to follow me for more info and such.
@kc_hamby
See ya in the twitterverse!!
I have released a sneak peak of the front of Chosen Book 2 on my twitter.
Most of my updates come from twitter, so feel free to follow me for more info and such.
@kc_hamby
See ya in the twitterverse!!
August 22, 2018
Songs and Quotes for Chosen #2
I love to listen to music when I write. I'm deep in editing of the Chosen book #2 and I just wanted to share some of the songs that have inspired the story thus far.
SONGS
Naked - James Arthur
Used To You - Dagny
Bad Habits - Delaney Jane
Darkside - Alan Walker, Au/Ra, Tomine Harket
Chasm - Flyleaf
Schedules - Sigrid
Worth It - Kodaline
Lately - Noah Cyrus, Tanner Alexander
Thru These Tears - LANY
Brother - Kodaline
Hurts So Good - Astrid
Forever - CHVRCHES
Pool - Paramore
Green Heart - Flyleaf
Follow Your Fire - Kodaline
You Are The Reason - Calum Scott
Slide - James Bay
That Feeling When - Dagny
QUOTES
just a few teasers for Chosen #2
"She’s just mad because I’m a kickass black wolf and she looks like a sad, rain-filled cloud." - Fal
"My eyelids shoot open as a scream escapes my mouth. I quickly staunch it, staring at Fal, beautiful and fierce Fal, leaning over me. Her hair tickles the sides of my face when she moves and the sensation helps calm me a little. Her scarred face contorts in worry, her mouth curling down as her eyebrows scrunch together." - Nina
"My gut screams at me. Things aren’t what they seem." - Fal
“I have seen no indication of Nina bein’ incapable of takin’ care of herself. She can put a whole room of us on the fuckin’ floor withoot movin’.” - New Character TBR
"I lean against the wall and breathe deeply, attempting to reign in my fury. My wolf is happy to be away from the girl, at least. But my hands are shaking with so much anger. " - Ash
SONGS
Naked - James Arthur
Used To You - Dagny
Bad Habits - Delaney Jane
Darkside - Alan Walker, Au/Ra, Tomine Harket
Chasm - Flyleaf
Schedules - Sigrid
Worth It - Kodaline
Lately - Noah Cyrus, Tanner Alexander
Thru These Tears - LANY
Brother - Kodaline
Hurts So Good - Astrid
Forever - CHVRCHES
Pool - Paramore
Green Heart - Flyleaf
Follow Your Fire - Kodaline
You Are The Reason - Calum Scott
Slide - James Bay
That Feeling When - Dagny
QUOTES
just a few teasers for Chosen #2
"She’s just mad because I’m a kickass black wolf and she looks like a sad, rain-filled cloud." - Fal
"My eyelids shoot open as a scream escapes my mouth. I quickly staunch it, staring at Fal, beautiful and fierce Fal, leaning over me. Her hair tickles the sides of my face when she moves and the sensation helps calm me a little. Her scarred face contorts in worry, her mouth curling down as her eyebrows scrunch together." - Nina
"My gut screams at me. Things aren’t what they seem." - Fal
“I have seen no indication of Nina bein’ incapable of takin’ care of herself. She can put a whole room of us on the fuckin’ floor withoot movin’.” - New Character TBR
"I lean against the wall and breathe deeply, attempting to reign in my fury. My wolf is happy to be away from the girl, at least. But my hands are shaking with so much anger. " - Ash
August 7, 2018
I Know I Can't Fly
I close my eyes
And the darkness there
Embraces me like a wayward lover.
The breeze against my flesh
Seems to soothe me into my fate.
It's too late... it whispers.
The rocks beneath my bare feet
Prick uncomfortably,
For they know I am just a visitor,
Biding my time and wasting all I have
Left with a future step.
The rocks know what it's like to have a hard life.
They should be empathetic.
Or, at least, sympathetic.
"This is pathetic," I whisper to the sky.
I know I can't fly,
But it has never been my intention.
Did I mention I have a fear of heights?
It's crazy, right? I'm stalling instead of falling.
This view is enthralling,
And the thought of dying a bit terrifying.
Darkness? Heaven? Hell?
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention.
I'm on the edge of sanity.
That's the cliff's name.
Sanity.
My toes hang over, feeling the absence of stability,
But this is thrilling even though it ends in my killing.
My arms open wide at the wind's insistence.
She's quite persistent.
The rocks prod me
And the world tilts.
No, that's just me.
The world is the same,
But I'm to blame--not the world-- for falling
And flipping myself upside down.
And before I hit the ground,
I just want to say...
My, it truly is a beautiful day.
Suicide. It never makes sense to anyone but the suicidal. Being in such a dark state of mind makes it seem okay; makes it seem like an adventure to an end.
Not romanticized, just accepted fate.
Being an outside perspective makes death at someone's own hand seem sudden. It confuses people because, to them, it is just an ordinary day.
To them, it is selfish and ungrateful. To them, suicide is blind.
Suicide is not about lack of gratitude.
It's not about blindness to the beautiful things in life.
It's about nothing other than the suicidal.
Their worlds have been turned upside down after they have been balancing for far too long, trying to fight the mental demons looming in every corner, clawing at their host whenever the opportunity arises.
Am I condoning it? Of course not. I have been touched by the suicide of a loved one and I have my own demons. It is painful.
I am, however, wanting to help others understand what goes through the minds of those who are suicidal. So many people think it is selfish. So many think it is impossible to think about. So many think it is so simple to get help; to see the brighter side.
It's not.
It's tough as hell when you think everything and everyone would be better without you. It is not easy to just turn off the bad thoughts.
So, I ask you to pay attention to your loved ones. To go in with an open mind and love if they open up to you about suicidal thoughts. Remember it isn't about you. It's not about being ungrateful or selfish.
It is solely about their pain and helping them through it.
Thank you.
And the darkness there
Embraces me like a wayward lover.
The breeze against my flesh
Seems to soothe me into my fate.
It's too late... it whispers.
The rocks beneath my bare feet
Prick uncomfortably,
For they know I am just a visitor,
Biding my time and wasting all I have
Left with a future step.
The rocks know what it's like to have a hard life.
They should be empathetic.
Or, at least, sympathetic.
"This is pathetic," I whisper to the sky.
I know I can't fly,
But it has never been my intention.
Did I mention I have a fear of heights?
It's crazy, right? I'm stalling instead of falling.
This view is enthralling,
And the thought of dying a bit terrifying.
Darkness? Heaven? Hell?
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention.
I'm on the edge of sanity.
That's the cliff's name.
Sanity.
My toes hang over, feeling the absence of stability,
But this is thrilling even though it ends in my killing.
My arms open wide at the wind's insistence.
She's quite persistent.
The rocks prod me
And the world tilts.
No, that's just me.
The world is the same,
But I'm to blame--not the world-- for falling
And flipping myself upside down.
And before I hit the ground,
I just want to say...
My, it truly is a beautiful day.
Suicide. It never makes sense to anyone but the suicidal. Being in such a dark state of mind makes it seem okay; makes it seem like an adventure to an end.
Not romanticized, just accepted fate.
Being an outside perspective makes death at someone's own hand seem sudden. It confuses people because, to them, it is just an ordinary day.
To them, it is selfish and ungrateful. To them, suicide is blind.
Suicide is not about lack of gratitude.
It's not about blindness to the beautiful things in life.
It's about nothing other than the suicidal.
Their worlds have been turned upside down after they have been balancing for far too long, trying to fight the mental demons looming in every corner, clawing at their host whenever the opportunity arises.
Am I condoning it? Of course not. I have been touched by the suicide of a loved one and I have my own demons. It is painful.
I am, however, wanting to help others understand what goes through the minds of those who are suicidal. So many people think it is selfish. So many think it is impossible to think about. So many think it is so simple to get help; to see the brighter side.
It's not.
It's tough as hell when you think everything and everyone would be better without you. It is not easy to just turn off the bad thoughts.
So, I ask you to pay attention to your loved ones. To go in with an open mind and love if they open up to you about suicidal thoughts. Remember it isn't about you. It's not about being ungrateful or selfish.
It is solely about their pain and helping them through it.
Thank you.
July 30, 2018
Scars of Death
Loss is fucking awful. No sugarcoating it, here. One day, everything is (semi) right with the world and the next day, it's turned completely upside down by death.
Death is not going away. Trust me, I know. But even though it is a constant, there really is nothing to be done to desensitize us to it. Every death of a loved one stabs us in the chest like a knife. It doesn't matter if you've been stabbed before. It doesn't make the next jab of the blade easier. It hurts just the same and takes a long time to heal. And even then, we still carry the scar everywhere we go, left behind like sorrow forever marred on our skin. These people will always be a part of us; forever there for us to hold on to.
I think the scars are a good thing. Of course, they hurt like hell and I wish they didn't have to happen at all, but having them reminds us that love is real. Life is fleeting, but love is eternal.
No matter what we go through, these scars let us know we are capable of something so strong, it stays with us forever.
I'm writing not just from a heart of sorrow, but one of love even death cannot sever. I will hold those I love closer, never wavering in my gratitude for their parts in my life. One day, they won't be here to hold onto and I don't want to spend the rest of my life asking impossible 'what if's, expecting answers I will never be able to obtain. I want to love now. I want to love them now and, then, forever.
Death is not going away. Trust me, I know. But even though it is a constant, there really is nothing to be done to desensitize us to it. Every death of a loved one stabs us in the chest like a knife. It doesn't matter if you've been stabbed before. It doesn't make the next jab of the blade easier. It hurts just the same and takes a long time to heal. And even then, we still carry the scar everywhere we go, left behind like sorrow forever marred on our skin. These people will always be a part of us; forever there for us to hold on to.
I think the scars are a good thing. Of course, they hurt like hell and I wish they didn't have to happen at all, but having them reminds us that love is real. Life is fleeting, but love is eternal.
No matter what we go through, these scars let us know we are capable of something so strong, it stays with us forever.
I'm writing not just from a heart of sorrow, but one of love even death cannot sever. I will hold those I love closer, never wavering in my gratitude for their parts in my life. One day, they won't be here to hold onto and I don't want to spend the rest of my life asking impossible 'what if's, expecting answers I will never be able to obtain. I want to love now. I want to love them now and, then, forever.
July 25, 2018
The Secrets of My Sister
Curiosity. Such a mind driven thing. Sometimes it's good; seeking knowledge and all that. Most of the time, though, curiosity is poison. They don't say 'curiosity killed the cat' for no reason.
My curiosity is eating away at the better parts of my sanity.
I've always been naturally curious; pillaging through drawers at friend's houses when they leave the room, searching through the attic at my grandma's house. I know it's a nasty habit. Invading people's privacy is rude and I'm a terrible house guest to keep. But I digress.
My sister left me alone in her house. Truly a moronic thing to do. She knows I can't help myself. But she said she had errands to do for a few hours and it was best if I stayed behind. Just as well. She's always been extremely more to herself. She even moved to a beach house on a secluded island in the Bahamas by herself. Don't get me wrong, coming here for two weeks vacation from my chaotic life is nice, but her staying here alone is bothersome. At least to me.
Now I have the opportunity to learn something about my quiet older sister. For a few hours. A pillager's dream.
I sigh, pushing away the book in my hands to stand from the soft couch. She has so many things to go through. My fingers are twitching with the possibilities. The house is light with windows upon windows on every wall. Everything is white trimmed, fancy but simple all the same. I cross the room to the small table set up beside the front door. Alana keeps her keys and mail here with a small dish for pocket change. Nothing worth thumbing through, though. I pull the single drawer of the table open and gasp.
A gun.
Okay, not too strange. She does live by herself. I actually feel better about her having it than not. I don't touch the thing, though. Some things even I won't mess with.
I shove the drawer closed and move to the coffee table. Fictional books are stacked neatly with classy decorations of Buddha and such. Normal things.
I'm beginning to think my sister actually is boring.
I search through nightstands, bathroom drawers, closets...everything. Nothing but normal items like blankets, shoes, makeup, etc. I'm beginning to lose interest.
My feet thump against the wood floor as I trudge back to the couch to resume my reading. The open book lying face down on the cushion gives me an idea. I turn to the large bookcase on the wall and smile devilishly. I've seen enough mystery movies to know bookcases can be a goldmine.
I pull a book, flip through it, and replace it. I do this over and over to the dozens of books living in the impeccably clean bookcase. Nothing. Nothing at all.
I groan, annoyed that I am related to someone so damn ordinary.
As I'm sliding the last book back into place, it slams against the wood back of the shelf in my frustration. The wood falls, thudding loudly against the floor. My heart hammers in my chest from the shock.
The wall behind the bookshelf is...different. I thought the walls were just painted, but this looks like it was wallpapered. And terribly, at that.
Upon further inspection, I realize the wallpaper has been haphazardly placed to cover something in the wall. A thrill surges through me, but my nerves chase it. I know Alana won't be back for a while, but this seems wrong somehow.
As usual, I shrug through my better judgement and pick at the wallpaper with my chipped nails. It peels back easily, as if this is done more than once a day.
Behind the wallpaper, there is a square hole in the wall. It reveals a worn leather notebook, clean despite the dust flying from the wood around it. I sneeze as I pull the book out, quickly replacing it with a similar notebook sitting on one of the shelves of the bookcase.
Can't be too careful.
I fix everything back the way it was and run to the bathroom with the journal pressed to my chest. The lock clicks as I shut the door and I climb into the too-big-for-one-person bathtub, closing the curtain behind me.
My heart thunders as I look at the treasure in my hands. I finally put my twitching fingers to use and untie the leather cord around the cover. It comes undone easily enough, and I flip open to the first page.
The thundered beating of my heart seems to come to a halt.
I think I'm going to be sick.
Plans. So many plans of murder, torture, and mutilation. Different names--some I recognize, others I don't--are written in fine script at the top of each page with their age and a date. I choke as I realize these are death dates.
"Ethan Hannabee, 24, 12/04/2015"
And at the bottom of the page..
"Method: Castration while restrained. Throat slit into a smile. He bled like a river, full and seeming to never stop."
He lived down the street from us when we were younger. He went missing three days before the date written.
The words do not seem like my sister, but I would recognize her handwriting anywhere. It's as if a robot wrote this, unfeeling and calculated.
My hands tremble as I flip through the notebook, more and more names curl across the pages. More and more dates.
Reddish brown dots are splattered on the paper every now and then.
I heave and throw myself from the tub, almost not making it to the toilet before I puke everything I've ever eaten into the waiting bowl of water.
No wonder she lives on an island.
People won't find bodies out here.
My curiosity is eating away at the better parts of my sanity.
I've always been naturally curious; pillaging through drawers at friend's houses when they leave the room, searching through the attic at my grandma's house. I know it's a nasty habit. Invading people's privacy is rude and I'm a terrible house guest to keep. But I digress.
My sister left me alone in her house. Truly a moronic thing to do. She knows I can't help myself. But she said she had errands to do for a few hours and it was best if I stayed behind. Just as well. She's always been extremely more to herself. She even moved to a beach house on a secluded island in the Bahamas by herself. Don't get me wrong, coming here for two weeks vacation from my chaotic life is nice, but her staying here alone is bothersome. At least to me.
Now I have the opportunity to learn something about my quiet older sister. For a few hours. A pillager's dream.
I sigh, pushing away the book in my hands to stand from the soft couch. She has so many things to go through. My fingers are twitching with the possibilities. The house is light with windows upon windows on every wall. Everything is white trimmed, fancy but simple all the same. I cross the room to the small table set up beside the front door. Alana keeps her keys and mail here with a small dish for pocket change. Nothing worth thumbing through, though. I pull the single drawer of the table open and gasp.
A gun.
Okay, not too strange. She does live by herself. I actually feel better about her having it than not. I don't touch the thing, though. Some things even I won't mess with.
I shove the drawer closed and move to the coffee table. Fictional books are stacked neatly with classy decorations of Buddha and such. Normal things.
I'm beginning to think my sister actually is boring.
I search through nightstands, bathroom drawers, closets...everything. Nothing but normal items like blankets, shoes, makeup, etc. I'm beginning to lose interest.
My feet thump against the wood floor as I trudge back to the couch to resume my reading. The open book lying face down on the cushion gives me an idea. I turn to the large bookcase on the wall and smile devilishly. I've seen enough mystery movies to know bookcases can be a goldmine.
I pull a book, flip through it, and replace it. I do this over and over to the dozens of books living in the impeccably clean bookcase. Nothing. Nothing at all.
I groan, annoyed that I am related to someone so damn ordinary.
As I'm sliding the last book back into place, it slams against the wood back of the shelf in my frustration. The wood falls, thudding loudly against the floor. My heart hammers in my chest from the shock.
The wall behind the bookshelf is...different. I thought the walls were just painted, but this looks like it was wallpapered. And terribly, at that.
Upon further inspection, I realize the wallpaper has been haphazardly placed to cover something in the wall. A thrill surges through me, but my nerves chase it. I know Alana won't be back for a while, but this seems wrong somehow.
As usual, I shrug through my better judgement and pick at the wallpaper with my chipped nails. It peels back easily, as if this is done more than once a day.
Behind the wallpaper, there is a square hole in the wall. It reveals a worn leather notebook, clean despite the dust flying from the wood around it. I sneeze as I pull the book out, quickly replacing it with a similar notebook sitting on one of the shelves of the bookcase.
Can't be too careful.
I fix everything back the way it was and run to the bathroom with the journal pressed to my chest. The lock clicks as I shut the door and I climb into the too-big-for-one-person bathtub, closing the curtain behind me.
My heart thunders as I look at the treasure in my hands. I finally put my twitching fingers to use and untie the leather cord around the cover. It comes undone easily enough, and I flip open to the first page.
The thundered beating of my heart seems to come to a halt.
I think I'm going to be sick.
Plans. So many plans of murder, torture, and mutilation. Different names--some I recognize, others I don't--are written in fine script at the top of each page with their age and a date. I choke as I realize these are death dates.
"Ethan Hannabee, 24, 12/04/2015"
And at the bottom of the page..
"Method: Castration while restrained. Throat slit into a smile. He bled like a river, full and seeming to never stop."
He lived down the street from us when we were younger. He went missing three days before the date written.
The words do not seem like my sister, but I would recognize her handwriting anywhere. It's as if a robot wrote this, unfeeling and calculated.
My hands tremble as I flip through the notebook, more and more names curl across the pages. More and more dates.
Reddish brown dots are splattered on the paper every now and then.
I heave and throw myself from the tub, almost not making it to the toilet before I puke everything I've ever eaten into the waiting bowl of water.
No wonder she lives on an island.
People won't find bodies out here.
July 21, 2018
Songs songs songs.
Music is important to me. It's saved my life and my moods more times than I can count. When I write, I listen to music to motivate me. I save the songs that remind me of my story and make me feel things. I'm kind of like my MC, Fal, in that way.
So, here are the main songs I used as inspiration for TWOTC.
Anyone Else - PVRIS
Touch - Troye Sivan
Control - Halsey
Darkside - Bishop Briggs
Dazzle - Oh Wonder
Devil In Me - Halsey
The Emotion - Borns
Holy - PVRIS
Howl - Florence and the Machine
I Fall Apart - Post Malone
I'll Be Good - Jaymes Young
Leave My Body - Florence and the Machine
Lose It - Oh Wonder
Make Up Your Mind - Florence and the Machine
Misguided Ghosts - Paramore
Natural Born Killer - Avenged Sevenfold
Nicotine - Panic! At The Disco
Nightmare - Avenged Sevenfold
Nighttime Hunger - Overcoats
Oh My My - Ruelle
Pray for Me - The Weeknd
Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac
River - Bishop Briggs
Silence (feat. Khalid) - Marshmello
Technicolor Beat - Oh Wonder
Til The Casket Drops - ZZ Ward
Unholy Confessions - Avenged Sevenfold
Walk Alone - PVRIS
What's Wrong - PVRIS
So, here are the main songs I used as inspiration for TWOTC.
Anyone Else - PVRIS
Touch - Troye Sivan
Control - Halsey
Darkside - Bishop Briggs
Dazzle - Oh Wonder
Devil In Me - Halsey
The Emotion - Borns
Holy - PVRIS
Howl - Florence and the Machine
I Fall Apart - Post Malone
I'll Be Good - Jaymes Young
Leave My Body - Florence and the Machine
Lose It - Oh Wonder
Make Up Your Mind - Florence and the Machine
Misguided Ghosts - Paramore
Natural Born Killer - Avenged Sevenfold
Nicotine - Panic! At The Disco
Nightmare - Avenged Sevenfold
Nighttime Hunger - Overcoats
Oh My My - Ruelle
Pray for Me - The Weeknd
Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac
River - Bishop Briggs
Silence (feat. Khalid) - Marshmello
Technicolor Beat - Oh Wonder
Til The Casket Drops - ZZ Ward
Unholy Confessions - Avenged Sevenfold
Walk Alone - PVRIS
What's Wrong - PVRIS
July 16, 2018
A Strange Request at a Piano Bar
"I'm sorry, you want me to what?" John can't believe what he's hearing.
"You heard me," Kate demands, looking like she feels more than a little awkward. She taps her foot to the jazzy music flowing from the piano and watches the musician's fingers fly over the keys from across the bar.
John leans back in his chair and wonders how this adult in front of him could ask him for such a juvenile favor. Who does she think she is anyway? Sitting there with her long blonde hair and bright, waiting smile, smelling of sassafras and a fun time. She came twirling up to him with such poise and innocence, walking in heels made to give anyone else a sprained ankle.
He can't deny she's attractive.
The alcohol in his system is surely in the middle of oxidation in his liver by now. He should be even slightly sober, but something about Kate is intoxicating. She bats her brown, doe-like eyes while sipping on some fruity, apple-flavored drink. The hope in her smile makes him want to do the stupid favor for her, even if it causes controversy and more than a few odd looks.
"Ugh, fine," John concedes and Kate's face lights up as if she were a child at a carnival for the very first time. She beams at him as he stands, wobbling only slightly over to the piano at the center of the bar. She wobbles only slightly as he shifts through the drunk crowd.
He really tries to put on a mask of indifference as the pianist stares at him expectantly, but his face heats and he can't stop biting the inside of his cheek.
His voice breaks as he glares into the eyes of the musician and says, "Do you know any Justin Bieber songs?"
"You heard me," Kate demands, looking like she feels more than a little awkward. She taps her foot to the jazzy music flowing from the piano and watches the musician's fingers fly over the keys from across the bar.
John leans back in his chair and wonders how this adult in front of him could ask him for such a juvenile favor. Who does she think she is anyway? Sitting there with her long blonde hair and bright, waiting smile, smelling of sassafras and a fun time. She came twirling up to him with such poise and innocence, walking in heels made to give anyone else a sprained ankle.
He can't deny she's attractive.
The alcohol in his system is surely in the middle of oxidation in his liver by now. He should be even slightly sober, but something about Kate is intoxicating. She bats her brown, doe-like eyes while sipping on some fruity, apple-flavored drink. The hope in her smile makes him want to do the stupid favor for her, even if it causes controversy and more than a few odd looks.
"Ugh, fine," John concedes and Kate's face lights up as if she were a child at a carnival for the very first time. She beams at him as he stands, wobbling only slightly over to the piano at the center of the bar. She wobbles only slightly as he shifts through the drunk crowd.
He really tries to put on a mask of indifference as the pianist stares at him expectantly, but his face heats and he can't stop biting the inside of his cheek.
His voice breaks as he glares into the eyes of the musician and says, "Do you know any Justin Bieber songs?"
July 10, 2018
Why So Cynical?
If you have read TWOTC, you may notice (and by may I mean you definitely did) the dark and gritty tone. I have had a lot of people ask me why I am so dark in the head when it comes to writing. I don't really have one answer.
I hate how media and literature seem to tiptoe around the extremely dark parts of living as a human being in this time. I understand not wanting to hurt, offend, or trigger anyone, of course. But hiding these things in the dark (in my opinion) does not help shed light on what is really going on in the world.
The reality is: it's hard as hell to be a woman, LGBTQ+, or a race other than white. Sexual assault is a problem. Sex trafficking is real. Racism is not dead. Homophobia is still rampant.
The only way to push for change is to show just how problematic these things are and, sometimes, you have to be blunt as hell to get through to some people. My goal as a writer is not necessarily to write about these things, but to be real about what happens in everyday life. I will never be an author who writes rainbows and unicorns getting married without an objection or any sappy shit like that. I will be honest. I will be brutal. The world we live in is nowhere close to being a happy ending for everyone. A lot of it is cold and cruel. Death is not always in old age, happy in the arms of your high school sweetheart. Death is sometimes as sudden as a heartbeat. It can be bloody and painful with no thought of who it hurts in the process.
I am not dark for the sake of being dark. I am dark because darkness is real.
I hate how media and literature seem to tiptoe around the extremely dark parts of living as a human being in this time. I understand not wanting to hurt, offend, or trigger anyone, of course. But hiding these things in the dark (in my opinion) does not help shed light on what is really going on in the world.
The reality is: it's hard as hell to be a woman, LGBTQ+, or a race other than white. Sexual assault is a problem. Sex trafficking is real. Racism is not dead. Homophobia is still rampant.
The only way to push for change is to show just how problematic these things are and, sometimes, you have to be blunt as hell to get through to some people. My goal as a writer is not necessarily to write about these things, but to be real about what happens in everyday life. I will never be an author who writes rainbows and unicorns getting married without an objection or any sappy shit like that. I will be honest. I will be brutal. The world we live in is nowhere close to being a happy ending for everyone. A lot of it is cold and cruel. Death is not always in old age, happy in the arms of your high school sweetheart. Death is sometimes as sudden as a heartbeat. It can be bloody and painful with no thought of who it hurts in the process.
I am not dark for the sake of being dark. I am dark because darkness is real.
