Whatever “it” was, I don’t think I have it anymore. Maybe it was the desire to write. Maybe it was just a passion to use my imagination. I don’t think I have “it” anymore. The muse for my creativity has always been a little “emo”, if you catch my drift. My writing has always been a reflection of deeply buried thoughts…it’s the only way for me to express them.
Well, as I am currently writing this post, I do have “it”–I take it back–but it is driving my writing to dark and dangerous places, where I will reveal a side of me that isn’t so sweet. One that is driven by anger and long held thoughts of revenge. Believe me, when I feel that anger swell up in me, I have to turn it off or I will end up hurting people I care about.
I repress those feelings for very, very good reasons. But it is almost like my subsconscious is trying to make me deal with that dark side of mine.
When I’m writing a scene with violence in it, I find myself holding back. I’ve been a victim of violence myself, albeit a different kind of violence, and I always am gnawed at by tendrils of guilt? Or shame? Whatever it is, I do hold myself back.
Maybe I’m scared of what I see.
*That’s my fave Nietzche quote. Trust me on this; the guy was an ass, but he had some good yet bitter insights on human nature.