In a very real sense. I’ve had chronic bronchitis for a very long time, but it went on hiatus since… well, pretty much since Ray was born. Sinus infections? Oh my yes. But bronchitis wasn’t my main thing. Until now. It started around Thanksgiving and, Well, I’m finally breathing pretty good, the cough is almost gone, and i feel human again.
So here I am.
I was also catching my breath when it came to writing. I started out on my goal of writing the rock opera with Bon Jovi as the main (only) music… but… I discovered that something I had written before fit in as well. I had orginially started the other piece as something to do with mommyhood, but the rage kept bleeding over and taking it over so I set it aside.
I also wasn’t sure about the tone. It could come across as smart- alecky, which is not what I intended. The newer version is not… it’s more serious.
But the real problem is…. It’s so damn scary. I’m scared even now.
But I’m still gonna do it.
I can feel myself wanting to clamp down, put the story on ice. But I was writing, having fun, listening to Bon Jovi as RESEARCH, people! The actual story line, though, has gotten to a point where I’m afraid to step over the threshold. It’s at the first turning point.
I’ve said before that it’s deeply personal.
It’s also non-fiction.
Which probably accounts for at least some of the fear (ALL OF IT). I may just create a narrator as a character, removing me by one… but that feels like cheating.
Do other people get this petrified of just putting the truth down on paper and accepting the consequences? Good, Bad or indifferent?