Finding the Profound in the Profane

I am not a devil, but certainly no angel. I’ve never believed that a writer should censor themselves for the sake of a kinder review or the hope of a fatter paycheck. Writing, good writing, is an art… and sometimes art is dirty. You have to be willing to get your hands bloody, and not be afraid to sweat.

I’ve recently begun a new novel, and with it I’m embarking on a road that I’m sure will surprise more than a few of those who know me. But it’s something I have to do. Something I must do. There will be blood on the page and tears will be shed. It’s a delicate dance to skirt the line between the profound and the profane, but in the end I hope my readers will enjoy the ride.

The writing world is full of babbling hacks choking on the same tired clichés and uninspired bullshit. The sad truth is more than a few of those make their way into the bestseller list year after year. It’s easy to blame the consumer for their lack of taste but in truth it’s our own damn fault for leading them to believe there’s nothing else to look forward to. Every once in a great while a story or film comes along to buck the system of its mediocrity and gives me hope that somewhere out there the winds are changing, and perhaps the written word that I love still has a breath of life left in it. Sadly, those days seem farther and farther apart these last few years.

For those of us who have the writing bug, we really have only one option. Write. Every day. Hone your prose into a lyrical weapon, and if the audience wants blood, give it to them. We all fall victim to lazy nights and dreary days; I’m certainly not immune. But it’s important that we never lose sight of what we’re aiming at…

And strike for the heart.

— C.D. Bennett