One Potent Mash Up

Go for the jugular or don’t go at all. If you don’t write from the gut, then what’s the point? Losing friends, family members, jobs, means you’re on the correct path. But you better be right, even when you make mistakes. It better be true. If it’s not. If it’s made up. If it’s cruel for cruelty’s sake or to make yourself look good, then you don’t deserve the title of writer.

But I’m not a journalist. I don’t have the stomach for it. My facts are subjective, therefore opinions. Listen, I don’t write to smear. My observations are just that, conclusions strung together on a clothesline  of experiences.

You should deduce from that that I’m a coward. I don’t fact check or interview sources. I vomit my positions onto the page and press,”publish,” without a second thought. Until about 24 hours later when, like Colonel Nicholson in Bridge Over the River Kwai, I think, What have I done? I had to remove another post. This time it was a judgement call and not a corporate directive. Social media is a bit like walking into an interview and spilling your guts to a future employer about everything you hated about your last job.

I don’t know. I don’t know why I had to do it. To write that. To lash out with my words. Because they’re good words when they’re close words, yes? The closer they are, the bloodier they flow. Because no one cares about bloodless words. They want a murder scene, carnage. They want assassinations carried out by the person who cares the most. The one who will stab 27 times. Overkill.

That’s me. That’s what I do. That’s what I want. To hurt. I think. Because I hurt. And you hurt me. And don’t you deserve it for being cruel and stupid? I’m smarter. That’s my weapon. And I hold a grudge. Until I don’t. And then I toss  your body into the river. I won’t even watch you go.

And for what? For who? I don’t know what I serve. Because I’m not serving myself. Jesus, let it go, Amy. Because I can’t. I just can’t. Not until I write it and not until someone reads it. And honestly, I don’t want the subjects of my ire to read it. I don’t want anyone who misunderstands the point to read it. The point that it’s about the writing less so the subject. Don’t listen to what I say, but how I say it. It’s the words that matter. Yes, the subject. Of course the subject. But we all say the same things. We just don’t say it in the same ways. And it’s the ways of saying things that matter to me. That’s the skill. That’s the craft of writing.

I wrote something and I lost a family member. Snip, in one essay, snap. That was a clean break. It’s one I think of nearly everyday. Turn it over, study it. Wonder if it was worth it. Ask myself again and again, Why? Why did I write something like that? Couldn’t I have left some things out. Just at the beginning. Just those few sentences. Everything would be so different.

That’s right. Everything.

But if you’re going to tell the truth, even when you make a mistake, you better be right. And I was right. But do you want to be right, or do you want a normal life with family and friends and frustrating jobs filled with secrets and shadows and unspoken wounds. Why not? It’s what everyone else has. Social constructs hang in the balance. Why would anyone in their right mind rip that apart? No really?

The written word is not the spoken word and the Internet is forever….But I gotta tell you, full disclosure, I’m glad that it is. It is my fail safe against my own remorse because my biggest regrets are when I must hide behind an anonymous curtain. I wrote several pieces for Salon that had to be published anonymously. The editors and lawyers decided it was best. No one wants to be a Rolling Stone. I don’t want to be a Jackie. But I’m not a Jackie. I tell the truth.

I want to write about it. I am never as good a writer as when I am spitting with rage. And when I write something I know is particularly imprudent, I want to keep it up.

But we live in a society for a reason. There are rules. And my rage along with this blog, a potent mash up for sure, could be my undoing. So best to keep it all under raps. And so here I go, back underwater. Perhaps an Ophelia, or just dumb doll, I’ll ride the tides and I may not emerge.

Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t you dare.

 

 

8 thoughts on “One Potent Mash Up

  1. I’m forcing the neurons to trace back in my mind to the article for which you are speaking. I think I recall it.

    Of note… you could actually turn this into a story like my short story series for Free-writing Friday…. pick a character & title… write from that perspective. Make the situation the theme. (The Slumlord, The Victim, The Guillotine… etc.). (There, the glove is thrown…)

    I suggest that, because I have found that there’s a time frame that is ‘unsafe’ to discuss things. Some of those stories, the impetus for them, parts are 20 years old or more…

    Have you seen the movie with Matthew Broderick, whatsthename… dang it… Yeah! “Biloxi Blues”?

    I always think back to the scene when his squad members find his journal. He’s been writing out these lengthy character sketches about all of them… caricaturing their personality traits, laying out their true natures in blatant and beautiful honesty…

    The squad was mortified to see themselves splayed out in such an unflattering light. No matter how ‘true’ it was…

    For blogging, one… I maintain a level of anonymity, but have people in real life (and online) that know more about me than the average browser or passer by… prefer that…

    And yes… I have done my fair share of pissing people off with a blog. Collateral damage of the craft I suppose… I always figure this is just practice anyway. Keeping up my chops…

    Hope that they are able to forgive and forget, or at least understand.

    Glad to see you back. 🙂

      1. Not at all…i really liked your response. You totally got the point. I may not have transitioned it well, but you helped me clarify something.

      2. Awesome. Of note as well is that I am not blogging for money, or to promote a writing career. This is, for me, quite literally, just an excuse to write. lol. After finishing my ‘book’, it occurred to me that perhaps I had lost my ‘voice’. This is me trying to get it back. (Yes… *gasp* I’ve considered again, rewriting the thing beginning to end. Thank God I have assignments due. lol.)

        In other words, I have no idea what I am talking about. Unless I do. lol.

      3. Well, if you’re doing a page one rewrite, don’t do it in a vacuum. I find a writers group, the right writers group, can launch careers. And what’s wrong with that? I like your blog and I’m enjoying you finding your voice.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s