The Pieces Shatter Just So (Part 2)

"I don't know whether I'm the boxer or the bag..." Pearl Jam



As a writer, if you want to really write something well, potent, you have to dig deep into yourself, prod those dark things that lurk in the back of your head. Those regrets, those painful memories, those things that paralyze you for hours if you let yourself dwell on them.

Regrets, we all have them. Things we should've done different, things we could've done different. If you think about your past for too long, you'll find yourself never moving forward. But when it comes to fiction, the more "truth" you let slip in, the better the story will be for it. Write what you know, is a mantra we've all heard before and it applies here.

Regrets. Such a simple word, but it's pregnant with meaning specific to each individual. Me? Boy, do I have plenty. To list them all, would fill this blog up. I usually don't talk about my own regrets, at least not in public, but if you read my work, you'll see them all. They're a part of who I am and they form all my decisions as I move forward. I'm a very analytical person, I approach things from every imaginal angle and I'm not an emotional decision maker, usually. The few times I have made decisions based on emotion they've turned out disastrous. If that makes me cold, then so be it, it works for me.

No one knows you like you know yourself. I'm constantly analyzing my motives and actions, I need to know why I do what I do in certain situations so I don't repeat past mistakes. But being completely honest with one's self can be pretty disheartening. Pulling at those old wounds, bleeding them onto a page, is draining and you have to be careful to leave yourself crumbs so you don't get lost in the words. You have to be able to pull yourself out of the deep, dark hole you just dug for yourself and make sure the rope you're using to pull yourself back out doesn't end up around your own neck.

My biggest regret is losing my son. I was an idiot back then. Lots of things I could've done differently. I was a very unhappy person and didn't even know why back then. I made a ton of mistakes, took a lot of bad roads, and ended up losing the most important thing to me. And I pay for it each and every day. It's a hole that I can't fill no matter what lies I tell myself to cope and feel better. I'm missing his life, sure I get to talk with him on the phone as time permits, but I'm not there to see him play basketball, baseball, football. To see him be a KID. I'm missing it all and it's the worst feeling in the world. This isn't a pity party, an oh poor me rant, it's simply stating facts. I miss having my son, seeing him grow up and being a part of his life. Despite everything, this is the knife that constantly twists in my gut when I think about him, I'm missing his childhood because I couldn't fix myself. Being honest with myself, that's the one thing, despite a huge list of wrongs on both sides of the DMZ, that I'll never be able to forgive her for, she stole my son and there's nothing I can do to make that right.

Nothing...