Ruminating On: Sharing Horrors

I’m not a huge fan of the menacing sociopath running the creative side of my brain. More often than not, he’s a devious entity, hell bent on giving me nightmares from which I cannot wake. This part of me wonders what it would be like to kick the walker out from under an old woman. He thinks it would be funny. I would never do such a thing, of course, but the thoughts are still there. So, I ask, “What the hell’s wrong with me?”

This blog comes in the wake of me finishing a new novella yesterday. The content hidden away inside these recently written pages is the most disturbing I’ve ever penned. Not “some” of the most disturbing, but “the most.” I made myself physically ill while writing it. My wife, seeing my affect had changed drastically, asked me on several occasions whether or not I was okay. I’d take my needed breaks, walk around a little, grab a drink, go sit on the porch, but nothing helped. So, I went back to writing. Now, some of you may think this is nothing more than an author trying to get people to become curious about his new work, but you’re wrong. I honestly want to know why I must carry this shit around with me. Can any of you tell me?

There are plenty of writers out there that share my burden, so I’m not saying I’m unique, I just want people to know, I don’t enjoy this. Every once in a while, I write for fun. This latest venture became fun, but only once I got out of the horrible happenings in the middle of the story. I’ve always wanted to blow some shit up (that’s the only spoiler you get), and this time, I got the chance. But I had to get there, first.

In Bay’s End, I tried to convey the message of loss and tragedy when concerning good people. With Dastardly Bastard, I worked to deliver the ideal that our memories can have control over us, but we should focus on the good, and let go of the bad. The Show (tentatively titled) revolves around bad people who do good deeds. To drive that point home, I put my morally-inept protagonists through the worst kind of hell to see how they would react, how they might survive. But can you truly promote a good message with vile content? I’m conflicted. I don’t know the answer to that.

To appreciate the light, one must have been in the dark. To believe that good exists, a person must know that true evil also resides in the world. So, where must you go when your characters are bad people who kill, and torture, and enjoy their profession? I think I found that place. Now, I want to forget it.

I write as an escape from the malevolent meanderings of a broken psyche. I don’t know where this shit comes from, but I wish I did. One of the beta readers for the new novella said that people would kill to be able to write as much as I do. They wouldn’t have to kill for it, though, because I’d gladly give it away. I scare myself sometimes. And this time around, I don’t think I’ll ever wake up from the nightmare. The happenings in Bay’s End were cathartic. Once I got them out of my head, they were gone. This new novella? Not so much. I’ve never written anything to completion with the thought that maybe, just this once, I shouldn’t show the world what resides in the nether reaches of my mind.

We’ll see. The novella goes to Red Adept Publishing tonight after a final read through. They will have the final say so on whether or not the masses get their hands on The Show, as I’ve decided, if they don’t want it, I’m not going to publish it as an indie. So far, the beta readers have been torn. One thinks the content I’m speaking of is written well, told properly, not too gratuitously, while the other believes the scene might need to be toned down, that what happens may not be fit for “public consumption.” I’ve never felt the need to hold a readers hand while they read my work, but this time, I do.

If the story does come out, and you guys read it, only to think, “What was he going on about? This isn’t that bad,” I will say this: It scared the holy shit out of me… is still scaring me. Another thing, if it doesn’t bother you, I’d look inward and ask a different question. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

This is not Dastardly Bastard, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, no waking up from the nightmare. The Show could happen, does happen. That’s what scares me.