The rawness grips my insides, branding Jude’s death on my heart all over again. With my pulse throbbing like a ticking bomb, I wonder if his loss will forever be imprinted in my DNA, marking me as broken.
I have this story underway. I’m not gonna lie – the writing is intense. At times I even think it’s good. That’s saying something!
The problem? I don’t know if it’s a story I should tell. There, I’ve said it! It’s not language or sex …I’ve already made the choice long ago that I will only write content in stories my minister grandfather would have been proud to read.
This story picks away at secrets. Here’s the thing – some people hear about one bad apple and assume the whole lot is rotten. I’m not like that. I think rotten apples are not an indication of the entire orchard.
So, can I write about the flawed and still demonstrate the integrity of the whole? What if my writing isn’t that good?
I’ll say it again, “WHAT IF MY WRITING ISN’T THAT GOOD?”
So there you go. I’ve sorted it all out. It isn’t my story at all. It’s fear. I’m not going to let fear hold me back. How about you?