Buckets, Kleenex & Never Again (Maybe)

Last week, I cried so much that I couldn't see straight. Oh wait - I couldn't see straight because I didn't have my glasses. Scratch that. Let's just say I cried buckets.

Not because I had to start over with the narrative for my new story.  Though with 10K words already written, having to go back to the beginning was certainly sob-worthy. I drowned myself in tears to examine and experience the emotions of sadness and anger evoked by tragic and unresolved loss.

In my new story, there is a murder. Someone was taken away too soon. Lives were changed; futures were damaged. The novel has to capture not only the events leading up to and after the murder, but also the emotions that trigger the actions causing those events. I needed to emerse myself in gut-wrenching, gone-before-I-could-do-anything pain so that I could accurately portray the thoughts and feelings of my characters.

So in spite of the promise I made myself to never watch them again and instead, love them from a distance, I revisited a few three-Kleenex-box favorite old movies that never fail to dredge up those difficult and painful emotions. Unfortunately, letting go of those feelings hasn't been easy. I'm still suffering through the consequences of self-imposed dispair.

Enough is enough. Time to go overdose on HAPPY!!