Some people know from an early age that they want to be a writer. It was different for me. I didn’t discover that I truly wanted write until I was about twenty. Before then I was content to sit and read.
I found my love for writing during a very spiritual time in my life. I was searching for meaning and purpose, and I discovered that writing down my feelings helped me to better understand them. From there my writing grew. I began penning short stories—and terrible poetry. My mother was the true poet.
It wasn’t until I had a half of century of messy adventures under my belt that I set to writing my novel, Cosette’s Tribe.
I’ve never been much of a head writer—thinking up things to write about ahead of time. My writing tends to bubble up from my heart, like a new spring fountaining out of the earth.
My stories are gleaned from a lifetime of experiences, cannibalizing the traits and affections from a vast cast of faces in my own life; creating an amalgamation of souls whose voices speak from the pages like a gathering of ghosts, without the tainted curl of guilt or self-consciousness.
I write to relieve myself of the burden of my limited humanity, reaching inward and finding things I thought I had lost forever and other things I never knew I had.
I could never just come right out and speak my stories; I must write them first. The tales are too long and my droning would put listeners to sleep. Besides, I never would have found the story in the first place if I hadn’t written it down and followed the scent of the tale.
As a writer I observe people’s actions; their irrational prejudices and quirky passions—following the fuse back to an explosive thought or situation that may have inspired such strong emotions, and then I paste those parts onto other parts, ultimately creating a new thing altogether, a costume to put on—an opportunity to take the literary stage as somebody else, where the creative rules are nonexistent—a theater of possibilities.
I allow a story to tell itself, page by intimidating page. Experiencing the feelings, fears, and desires of the character on a visceral level, allowing the pain in order to write honestly.
This is how Cosette’s Tribe unfolded. Cosette, being the most enthusiastic tour guide, welcomed me into her complicated world and then trusted me to record it in an honest way. She spoke; I listened. In the end I believe she said what she needed to say…for now. The rest remains to be heard.
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Rating – R
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