It's taken me awhile to let go.
I know you're supposed to forgive. I just find it tricky. Because you know, forgiving does not appear to be a one off. It's an every day chore, somewhat like brushing your teeth or doing the washing. At least for me, I have to keep on at it and on at it and on at it. Every. Single. Day. You can't just say 'I forgive them' and that's it. You have to forgive them the next day and the next and the next. It's a bit of a drag.
But I'm getting closer.
Until recently, I was intent on the the Evil, Evil *&^&* Woman pushing someone into a volcano and spending the rest of her life in a developing world prison.
In fiction of course.
I hadn't written it up.
But I savoured the fact the writing was waiting for me. On particularly bad days, when everything was All-Her-Fault I could smell the sulfur and knew if I really wanted I could write it up when the kids were sleeping. Somehow it made things easier. The fact she kicked us out of paradise the week I discovered I was pregnant with my Poppet, giving us 3 weeks to pack up and leave the country, just before Christmas, rankled. The fact it'll take us years, possibly decades, to get back to what we had, sort of grates.
I've given that up now. (Except on days when we're all sick with no help in sight, the kids get too much, the housework gets on top of me, the bills come in all at once... those days)
Anyway, the story I'd put the Great-Volcano-Murder in wasn't working the way it was supposed to. It was stuck and stagnating, no matter how much I loved my characters and settings and looked forward to the Evil One being suitably punished.
So... I took it out.
And suddenly all sorts of wonderful ideas burst out, blooming in a multitude of dazzling colours and wondrous hues. Suddenly, the story started working. It became whimsical and fun again. Full of mythical beasts and secret, twisty-turny staircases leading to fantastical worlds.
It got it's fizz back.
So the Evil One goes unpunished, even in fiction.
But I get my story back, pulsing with energy and full of tantalising surprises, even for me.
I think I can deal with that.
Most days.
I know you're supposed to forgive. I just find it tricky. Because you know, forgiving does not appear to be a one off. It's an every day chore, somewhat like brushing your teeth or doing the washing. At least for me, I have to keep on at it and on at it and on at it. Every. Single. Day. You can't just say 'I forgive them' and that's it. You have to forgive them the next day and the next and the next. It's a bit of a drag.
But I'm getting closer.
Until recently, I was intent on the the Evil, Evil *&^&* Woman pushing someone into a volcano and spending the rest of her life in a developing world prison.
In fiction of course.
I hadn't written it up.
But I savoured the fact the writing was waiting for me. On particularly bad days, when everything was All-Her-Fault I could smell the sulfur and knew if I really wanted I could write it up when the kids were sleeping. Somehow it made things easier. The fact she kicked us out of paradise the week I discovered I was pregnant with my Poppet, giving us 3 weeks to pack up and leave the country, just before Christmas, rankled. The fact it'll take us years, possibly decades, to get back to what we had, sort of grates.
I've given that up now. (Except on days when we're all sick with no help in sight, the kids get too much, the housework gets on top of me, the bills come in all at once... those days)
Anyway, the story I'd put the Great-Volcano-Murder in wasn't working the way it was supposed to. It was stuck and stagnating, no matter how much I loved my characters and settings and looked forward to the Evil One being suitably punished.
So... I took it out.
And suddenly all sorts of wonderful ideas burst out, blooming in a multitude of dazzling colours and wondrous hues. Suddenly, the story started working. It became whimsical and fun again. Full of mythical beasts and secret, twisty-turny staircases leading to fantastical worlds.
It got it's fizz back.
So the Evil One goes unpunished, even in fiction.
But I get my story back, pulsing with energy and full of tantalising surprises, even for me.
I think I can deal with that.
Most days.
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