Hiding place by ~Jcandres on deviantART
currently, i am researching a full length fiction piece that i have never intended to post here,, (mainly because i feel reading full length pieces online is tedious, and i would not expect you to do so) and more than likely, given my track record of non-submission,, i will not “send out” either.. i am writing it strictly to see if i can do it.. if i can follow it thru,, if i can collect it,, contrive it,, compile it,, and complete it..
my project is based on a short story i shared with you months ago,, entitled, her boy.. it is the story of a woman of dubious past, tried and convicted by the media,, of a heinous crime she did not commit.. it is a project that has had me stepping outside of my comfort zone and writing about something with which i have no first hand experience.. it is a project that involves research and a mobilization of emotions that i have not personally experienced,, and since my niche in writing is quite confessional,, being, thinking, and acting, for someone outside of myself requires a lot of investigative research..
my foray into researching this project has had me dabbling in something in which i would not ordinarily dabble,, and that is the cold, hard, world of another’s reality.. i prefer the warm, fuzzy, comfort of my world.. my little corner… a place where everything is mine and runs in a fashion that i prescribe for it.. a tiny little sector of life inhabited by one woman, two dogs, and the occasional walk on part by a generous old man or a distant family member… but for the most part my world is mine.. alone..
in researching the subject matter for this piece,, i have been carried off into a world of the unimaginable.. i have read, and continue to read, account after account of those caught up in the criminal justice system thru no real fault of their own.. people just like you and i, that are living thru their own personal hell because no one wants to accept the fact that something as powerful and all consuming as the criminal justice system might be broken..
as i delve ever deeper into the case histories, “meet” the people involved,, review the trial transcripts,, i am given to wonder,, of what consequence is my writing a piece of fiction about a woman that doesn’t really exist, being incarcerated for an imagined crime?? could not my desire to research and write about such atrocities be put to better use?? where exactly does creating works of fiction and crafting cleverly worded poems fit into the grander scheme of things?? should i seek out the opportunity to write on a subject that “matters” ?? or continue writing,, just to see if i can???
very simply,, i am drawn toward making something real come from my efforts.. something that matters.. something that makes a difference.. for me it has always been about the words, their power, their authority, the feeling of control i have when they string themselves together in such a way as to replicate,, feeling,, emotion,, life… their ability to carry me along,, drag me,, toss and turn me,, using them in a such way as to compel you to feel what i am feeling…
yet,, i cannot help but wonder, if perhaps my desire to string together the words in such a way,,, could not be put to better use.. what if i could cause you to feel what i am feeling,, and together we could make a difference?? even if it was a very small difference,, say in the life of one person neither of us will ever really know???
immersing myself in another’s reality for the past few weeks has caused me to reexamine my motivations.. to question the hours that i am willing to spend orchestrating pretty words… to wonder if perhaps this place called …why paisley??? has not been just a hiding place,, all along…..
