Dancing in silence.

I know there’s music playing but I can’t hear the beat any more; my steps are erratic and I can’t find my groove.  This happened when I started this draft.  I woke up with the whole series in my head.  I knew exactly what was going to happen and when.  I wrote the outline in a matter of minutes one sleepless morning.  I had the opening scene done (when I thought it would be a television series) in minutes as well.  Then, in the middle of fleshing it out for a class I was in, the rapist showed up and took what was to be a Closer type television show into something more suited for a late night HBO or Showtime kind of deal.  All dark corners, blood and violence.  I stumbled then too.  The music was still playing but like now, I couldn’t find my steps.  So I stopped dancing with the draft; I put it down.

A couple of weeks ago, I came face to face with some feelings I’d suppressed and in the midst of that, my Divinity pulled this writing from the background and spoke very loudly that it was time to finish it.  That this needed to be my next novel (of significant length I might add).  I was psyched, ready to tackle it and see it through to the bloody end.  Then the rapist showed up and I’ve stumbled.  Unable to follow him into the dark recesses of his psyche. 

He seems to be taunting me – strange I know to be speaking of a fictional, make-believe, non-existent figment of my imagination, but you know…my characters are as real to me as the personalities that share my body.  (Yeah, wrap your mind around that one, why don’t you.)  This character, known only as the South End Rapist, seems to be daring me to cross that line.  I don’t think he means me any harm but I do think he represents something I’ve maybe…

Damn.  I hate when that happens.  I know what / who he is and why I haven’t been able to write past when he shows up in the story.  I didn’t work past it when he showed up in my real life, so of course, I don’t know how to work past him now that he’s in my fiction and larger than life.

Writing has always been a form of emotional release.  It was the only way I could “feel” or express my emotions.  Well, here’s something I don’t want to feel again, but I’m learning that healing means (oh geez, am I really going to write this rhyme?  Yeah, I guess I am, lol), feeling.  I have to face it to work through it.  And oh goodness, another sign.  In the book I’m reading, the hero gets a taste of something psychically nasty and in order to release its effect on him, he locks himself in a dark room and forces himself to face it over and over again until the effect is no longer potent.  I read somewhere that samurai will envision their own death repeatedly so as to release their fear of it – it made them stronger in battle apparently.  I need to do this.  For my real life health, and for the health of my main character, I’ve got to face it all.

Is that music I hear in the distance?  I so want to dance again…

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