wounded writers


The ones you can’t see.

How much writing comes from unresolved grief?  I’m not sure even the writer knows.

You might start with the barest wisp of an idea.  You diddle around, you form a sentence or two, and then it’s like you’re channeling another dimension.  Anguish spatters across your screen.  Venom, confusion, self-flagellation.

You grope in the dark.  It feels so…so…alien.  So not you.

But it is you.  It’s the part that never sees the light of day.  The orphaned part that scutters around the trash-strewn alleys where your ego refuses to go.

You’ve got to let it breathe.

Oh, it’s scary.  It’s mottled and pock-marked, rancid and and a bit feverish.  But it did the heavy-lifting for you.  It’s how you learned some hard lessons, found out what you’re made of.  This pain isn’t just useful to you, it is necessary to you.

Respect it.  Cherish it. Give it voice.

It has a great story to tell.


About Lisha Cauthen

Lisha Cauthen writes YA novels for guys that girls like to read too.

Posted on March 21, 2009, in mind, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. Bottled Lightning

    Mom, that’s creepy. But I guess wounds fester if they don’t get some air… gross. 🙂

  2. This is a beautifully written post, and so true. Writing is probably more powerful when we go to the dark places in ourselves than the light ones.

    I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I truly look forward to your blog posts and hope you’ll consider posting more often–if you have time, that is. You have a great deal of talent 🙂

  3. I agree with the above post…that you have a great deal of talent. Looking forward to hearing more of the WIP. 🙂

  4. Lovely poem, and so true. Is that a Van Gogh painting?

  5. Thanks, guys. (Except you, Fruit of My Loins.) You are a great group to suffer with.

    And good catch, KT. That is indeed, a Van Gogh.

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