I Love To Write, So It Rarely

He Wondered If This Was What Clinical Depression Felt Like, A Total Numbness, A Weary Lack Of Hope.

A Pretty Face Had Been Damaged By Acne Scars And She Wore And Extra Forty Pounds On Her Frame Like A Threat. Her Eyes Were Dull With Anger Disguised As Apathy. If She Kept On Her Current Path, She'd Grow Into The Type Of Person Who Fed Her Kids Doritos For Breakfast And Purchased Angry Bumper Stickers With Lots Of Exclamation Points. But Right Now, She Was Just Another In A Long Line Of Pissed-off Small-town Girls With A Shitty Outlook.

And Often The Worst Thing Wasn't The Victims--they Were Dead, After All, And Beyond Any More Pain. The Worst Thing Was Those Who Loved Them And Survived Them. Often The Walking Dead From Now On, Shell-shocked, Hearts Ruptured, Stumbling Through The Remainder Of Their Lives Without Anything Left Inside Of Them But Blood And Organs, Impervious To Pain, Having Learned Nothing Except That The Worst Things Did, In Fact, Sometimes Happen. (mystic River)

I Found That I Could Write Two Kinds Of Short Stories: I Could Write Very Absurd, Kind Of Surrealistic, Funny Stories; Or I Could Write Very Dark, Realistic - Hyper-realistic - Stories. I Was Never Happy With That, Because I Couldn't Meld The Two.

I Believe In God. Maybe Not The Catholic God Or Even The Christian One Because I Have A Hard Time Seeing Any God As Elitist. I Also Have A Hard Time Believing That Anything That Created Rain Forests And Oceans And An Infinite Universe Would, In The Same Process, Create Something As Unnatural As Humanity In Its Own Image. I Believe In God, But Not As A He Or She Or An It, But As Something That Defines My Ability To Conceptualize Within The Rather Paltry Frames Of Reference I Have On Hand.