…and the walls came crashing down…

You probably don’t know me from Adam.  Or, if you do, you don’t know all of me.  I section myself off and very, very few people know what goes on in my head.  However, I think that is about to change.  That’s because they say that if you want to know a writer’s soul, you need to read their work.  While I have published some things, I hold a lot of it back.  No more.  Even the work that can’t get published or that I haven’t put out into the world much is about to find a home here.

This is the place where I make my stand, where I take a scalpel and slice my soul bare.  I had a very important person in my life once tell me that was the only way to make a connection as a writer.  She said I had to take a chance and open my wounds all the way up and bleed them out through my pen.  She died, and for awhile I forgot this.  I shut it away in one of my compartmentalized selves and locked the door.

Writing is not just something I do on occasion, and it’s not just a passing fad.  It is possibly the most important thing about me.  It is my purge, my way of coping with the world when everything seems out of control.  It always has been.  I’ve never used drugs, I’m not a big drinker, and for awhile in my teenage years if you’d asked I would have said my outlet was sex.  But that was before writing, before I found a way to sort my life in words.

These characters are not real, and yet they are.  I create them from aspects of people I have met over the years.  It could be something as simple as the way a man rubbed his stomach when he spoke or the confused tilt of someone’s head when I said something that took them by surprise.  I distill the essence of what these people are and try to incorporate those aspects into my stories.  It doesn’t mean the events are real.  In fact, events that happened in the written world probably have never happened in the physical world.  The foundations for these are built on a grain of truth and then expanded through a highly active imagination.

Pull up a chair and stay a minute. While you’re here, read something.  I hope you enjoy them. If so, leave a comment or send a message. If not you can leave messages too, but be constructive. You can call something shitty and trash it, just don’t be surprised if I tell you to fuck off.  It’s kind of who I am.

So, here it is people, take it or leave it.  I’m not sure how many of you will read this.  I have no idea if it will find an audience.  I just know it is something I have to do.  For too many years I have not been using writing as a means of purging my inner demons.  Instead I’ve been building up walls.  Now it is time for me to tear those walls down…

6 thoughts on “…and the walls came crashing down…

    • Thanks! Yes, it appears to be working. Let me know if you find any glaring comma errors, lol! I’m sure there is a metric ass ton of them.

  1. Kristi… I have to say… this reminds me why I write, and why I need to get back to it. I don’t ever feel quite right when I’m not putting down words on paper…I need that to sort through shit.

    Go, Kristi, go!

  2. How well you capture the angst of middle school students as they trod the halls of social mine fields at that age!! You have a rare talent, and I am glad you are sharing that with us. I saw a glimmer of your vivid imagination as a grade school student. It makes me glad to see that the glimmer has grown into a full blown explosion. Keep on writing!!

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