Sometimes I feel like my writing is too dark.
I judge myself and wonder why my default is not to write about life’s romances but instead its turmoil. Both beautiful in their own right, it is the romance that inspires me to live and the turmoil that inspires me to create.
I use writing as an outlet and the truth is, I don’t need to release the good stuff. I want to keep the romance safe inside of me, without exposure, for fear the potency of those moments will diminish.
The eager, nagging, twisting thorns are what I want to release myself from.
Each story or poem I write is like tweezing out a thorn, pulling it from its tight burrow underneath my flesh.
But as I write, life continues to happen. I experience pleasure and pain in floods and waves. A new thorn embeds itself in me as quickly as I remove another.
For a writer or any creative soul, this must be a gift. For when we run out of thorns, out of turmoil, does not our well run dry?