Who do I write for?
It’s been a trying few years for me. As I grow older, past traumas have begun to surface and manifest themselves in things like recurrent distressing dreams and related insomnia. New traumas, such as wrenching real-world events, exacerbate the problem.
I never wanted this blog to become a confessional or a personal journal. Suffice it to say that being an adult has never been more challenging than when I feel myself slipping from one age demographic to another. It’s as if my brain has contained all its toxic waste until now, and everything’s spilling out. Or maybe I reached the limit of the toxicity I could store, and the container has burst.
Work has often been a refuge for me, but I find it less so as years pass. Too frequently, my writing has begun to reflect my life experience in a direct way, which is something I’ve never wanted. I inform my writing through my personal history, but I’ve never gone full-bore autobiographical. I don’t much care for that.
These days, I write personal projects with less emphasis on the market. I find it’s the only way to engage with my creative side without letting other factors overwhelm me. I’d love to hit the tables at your local B&N, but right now, that’s not in the cards unless some terrific agent or a particularly enthusiastic editor appears. So I write and keep it to myself, and maybe someday I’ll publish again.