Permission Granted

The other night when I could not sleep frustration was setting in. Yesterday morning I was fretting over not being finished with Lives Lived and really kind of racking my brain for ways to speed up the process. I guess it is normal to get antsy. Especially when you have been working on a project that has taken so many twists and turns. I will admit that I spend a good deal of time questioning some of the material in the novel. I don’t question the quality of writing; I question whether or not what I am writing is too harsh. Well, here is the thing about that. There are some parts of Lives Lived that might be a little, or a lot disturbing but this is not a sci-fi novel. The events that take place in the novel take place everyday in our world. We just don’t talk about them.

In a country that currently lives on anti-depressants and sleep medications I think it is completely acceptable to write a novel that actually deals with some of the things we are working so hard to hide. Why not open up the medicine cabinet and see what is in there? Why not look in the mirror and see what is really there and not what the Lexapro or the Ritalin or Klonopin or Lithium or Paxil or alcohol or marijuana or overeating, etc gives us? Something is happening and it is happening to a great deal of people but you would never know it unless you are really paying attention. Look around at the people in your life. Look at your coworkers and friends and family members and I am sure that you will find someone who is using something to get through the day. If they did not have that something where would they be? Would they be at all?

A guy at work read some of my poetry and he said that he looked at me differently now. I told him that was okay. What mattered was that he was still looking at me and talking to me and that he actually liked what I had written (that was just an added bonus, but it is still nice). He is an African immigrant so his background is a little different than the average American. I would say that if you have an international strand in your body, you may be coming from a background the allows you to see differences in people in an adjusted light. Immigrants are “The Other” so I think they have a better chance of seeing difference, accepting it and moving on.

Sometimes, someone has to be the oddball that says the thing that is buried deep in many throats. I’ve never been afraid to be different or the lone wolf or the black sheep or whatever character it is that delivers the message that people say, “huh?” to. So I say, let’s do it. Let’s say those things that so many people are thinking but no one wants to say.