Words are powerful. As a writer, I understand that. As a reader, I crave it.
Still, it surprises me when it’s not intentional.
I have a silly, cynical, eye-rolling blog on Writing.com. It is a site where I showcase my fiction when I’m not feeling like a worthless hack. I made an off-hand comment about abusing friendship in a two paragraph blog entry and while I didn’t think much of it at the time, I received several comments back with concerns that I was upset about this vague incident.
Actually it wasn’t a specific incident and I wasn’t upset. It was something that had been happening on and off for some time and with two different people. Only occasionally does it bother me and it is then that I withdraw and ignore… hiding in my stories.
Hiding in my stories is ideal for me. I write when I’m at an emotional extreme – happy or sad, angry or depressed. It doesn’t matter as long as my emotions are strung to their maximum threatening to snap like a cheap balloon.
Is it a cheap excuse to tolerate something I don’t like? Yeah, it is. Hence, the annoyed blog entry. At the same time, I see the silver lining. If I don’t take offense, I don’t find that world of mine as easily. While I could never get tired of that voice, Placebo can only be relied on so often to help me find my Muse. If it becomes habit, at some inconvenient point, she’ll laugh hysterically and refuse to work.
Sure, she’s a bitch, but she’s also damn creative. Sound familiar?