Rosie sat on the curb as twilight grew heavy around her. She absentmindedly rubbed the toes of her converse sneakers together, making the rubber squeak. She tangled her fingers in the cut off hem of the short denim skirt she snuck out of the house in. She had a school backpack at her feet, the homework and notebooks from the day before replaced with a toothbrush, some cash and a change of clothes. She was waiting for her boyfriend, JJ. He was running late, and it was getting colder on that concrete curb.
Dark Matter
This week on my ten minute break in the middle of a five hour shift I scribbled the beginning of a short story on the back of a receipt. In a hurry I left the note on the desk in the back room and went back to work. A couple of hours later, a co-worker full of jesting concern asked me why there was a series of notes about sex trafficking and the super bowl on the desk. Bright red and fumbling I tried to explain about the story I was writing, about the passionate hatred that rose up in my chest thinking about the thousands of girls who will be bought and sold, used and abused and left behind to rot this weekend while the rest of us eat chips and salsa, drink a beer and watch the big game. Before I could gain my composure enough to make intelligent or thoughtful arguments, my co-worker was clearly uncomfortable and the conversation died off.
It’s the same discomfort I feel when people would ask me what my first novel-project was about. Explaining to people who know me well, who know me as an easy going naive, good-natured girl, that I wrote a novel about suicide and self harm and depression, is no easy task. Not everyone understands how I came about to write such a dark story, why I was interested in writing about such sad things. And when I explain that the story I’m writing this week is about abuse and trafficking and kidnapping, I think a lot of people don’t understand why a nice girl like me would write something so uncomfortable.
The story that I am sharing this week (a few days late) is uncomfortable, is dark, is, frankly, evil. But my intention is never to glorify, to romanticize, to indulge in the darkness. I know that it is not easy to look the evil in this world, that it would be so much easier to brush it under the rug, to pretend it never happened, to change the channel, to fold over the newspaper, to ignore it. Especially in the culture of the church, where we are encouraged to talk about the good things that God has done for us, but spare the details. We are encouraged to keep it PG, to edit out the really hard stuff. After all, we don’t want to glorify the darkness. We don’t want to give it a foothold, to sensationalize it, give it power.
But I think there a some very important reasons that I must not hide from the darkness, as a writer, as a Christian, as someone who has dealt with their fair share of darkness in the world.
Especially as a writer. The stories that we love, the ones that really stay with us, that impacted us, that changed our hearts and minds, had a lot of really dark stuff in it. Sauron in the Lord of the Rings, Voldemort (or Umbridge) in Harry Potter, The Capital, the stepmother, the tyrant.
There are a few reasons that I will shy away from the darker aspects of storytelling. I want to share them with you, especially before you go and read this weeks story. I want you to understand my motives, to pull back the curtain and show you the inner workings for a minute.
Villainy is vital to good storytelling. The darkness is what lets us know that things have to change. That there are things worth fighting. There is a reason that the good guys are standing up to the villain, that you will root for them to win no matter what obstacle they come across. A really truly evil villain is what makes the story worth reading, the stakes being high is what makes the battle worth winning. If Voldemort had just been kind of mean, just been a bully at school and a small minded, low achiever with no influence, no drive, Harry would have been crazy for fighting so hard. There would have been no reason for him to keep skipping school, to keep running off, to keep breaking rules and keep fighting. If the tyrant isn't evil, why are we fighting a revolution? If there is no darkness, the light is hard to see.
As a writer, I want my books to mean something. I want them to impact people's hearts and minds. The fight between good and evil is vital to that ability to impact.
Additionally, it is honest. It’s real. The world is full of hard things, bad things, horrific, truly and really messed up things. We go through dark times, we struggle with evil, we fight and we overcome. For me, writing is a way to explain the hard things that happen, start to make sense of them. The storytelling begins create a balm for our hurting souls. For me, stories are part of the healing process.
Telling the story takes the power back from the evil things that have happened. If we keep them hidden, keep them secret, keep them in the dark, they will only grow in their power over us. If we give voice to them and to the hard fought victory, we take back out own power over them. God’s power over them.
When I experience a panic attack, the irrational fears of the very worst things that can happen that cripple me, drop me to the floor, unable to move or think or breathe. Saying aloud what I am afraid of, speaking out loud the very worst thing that could happen, is what puts me back in control of my thoughts. Saying aloud “I am afraid of being alone” banishes the fears from the dark corners and in the spotlight of what is true, their lose their grip on my subconscious.
Ray Bradbury encouraged new writers to write about the things they love. To find joy in writing about the science fiction, the gorillas, the robots. (Or princesses and quests and magical items!) But he also encouraged writers to write about the things that scare them, to give voice to the fear lurking in the background and put skin on the skeletons in the closet. They don’t look so frightening when we give them clumsy bodies. And to write about the things that piss you off. To take the anger that burns under your skin when you witness injustice or get cut off in your car, put it to words and let it transform into something more powerful than anger. Sometimes it feels like there isn't much you can do against the surging tide of evil in the world. And a lot of times there isn't anything you can do. But I can write stories. I can put the anger and sadness and heartbreak into words, into stories and at least try to make sense of it.
I know that the story this week is going to be hard to read, it is going to make you uncomfortable, and I want you to know that going into it. But it is an important story to tell and to read. I don't really feel bad ruining the fun of the superbowl, that is true. I do want you to be safe though. I want you to choose which darkness you allow yourself to grapple with and which you rightfully choose to keep your heart safe from. So I understand if you tread with caution. I understand if you stay away from the darker stories. You have the freedom to choose what you read and what you don't care to and I want you to exercise that right.
This week's story, about a young girl's nasty experience at the superbowl goes up in a few, keep this mind as you read it.
Six Word Stories
February 2, 2016
For Sale: baby shoes, never worn.
The six word story is an extreme example of a genre called "flash fiction" or "sudden fiction"- the idea that you can convey a world of emotion in a story that is barely a full sentence long.
These short stories are addicting to read and surprisingly complicated to write. They are consistently surprising, conjuring laughter one moment and tears the next, gasps of fear or anger, even an occasional romantic sigh.
There is a sub-reddit worth checking out if you want more examples: these are a few of my favorites.
His first kiss was her last. [submitted by Jaws_Elevator.]
Found myself in someone's written words. [submitted by Volition_Trigger]
They came. I hid; she couldn't. [submitted by TableanNealbat.]
And a few to find on pinterest, that are hard to attribute to their true author.
The smallest coffins are the heaviest.
Brought home roses. Key didn't work.
I just saw my reflection blink.
Writing these stories has proved equally addictive. To convey anger or grief or joy without establishing a backstory, a history, or character development simplifies the process, but finding the right six words takes longer than I thought. Most of my attempts end up being emotional sentences that don't really tell a whole story, they just explore a moment or a scene. Trying to expand the moment into a novel has been a great challenge. My short walk to and from work has been consumed with crafting novels, words ticked off on my fingertips.
Here are some of my latest attempts:
Coronation day; crown is too big.
Could be, we are the villains.
Are you sure we're the heroes?
(Not sure which one I like better...)
She is drowning on dry land.
"I do," he cried. She smirked.
Give it a go!
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