Going There is the Hardest Part
Some of the places I have to go to write this book are just really hard.
I start pecking away at the story and then inside I hear "you have to go deeper, paint the picture Carole" and I say back to that voice "I can't! It's to hard! I don't want to! I don't want to go there again." because when you write about yourself, at least for me, I feel the intensity of the moment in which I am returning to.
Today, I am trying to write about my first love, Jimmy. It would be easier maybe if I didn't know the pain ahead, and it would be easier if I could just write about life after Jimmy and how much better it has been, but I can't skip the guts of the story, I just know I can't and writing all the guts is just no fun.
That's why I'm taking a break right now from working on the book to write this blog post, so I can vent my anxiety over it all. Maybe it will help me get back to it.
Like the little section below, it's the skeleton, and even that skeleton was hard to write, but I know I must give more then a shell, I know I must include meat, blood, brains, so the story comes alive.
And when I say I must, I mean I absolutely know I must, whether anyone understands it or not, I must.
The next day he called me and then we just started dating. I was 15. We dated off and on throughout the school year. There was always drama mainly because I wouldn't have sex with him, so he'd break up with me. All my friends were having sex with their boy friends but I just wanted to be sure he was the one, my forever, before I gave that up. He would tell me he loved me, how he thought we would be together forever, then when I wouldn't have sex with him he'd break up with me and go sleep with some other girl. Finally I believed him and I believed that I was in love, that he was my forever. So one day I said yes to sex. A month later he broke up with me.
I had given my virginity to a complete jerk. He was charming, sexy, beautiful and arrogant, cocky, rude and treated me like crap. So I was sure he was my forever. Girls without daddy’s in the home pick the worst there is and assume they are a perfect fit. I was desperate for a man to love me, in desperation the look of love is distorted, desperation makes evil look acceptable. At 15, things already don’t look right but at 15 without a father, love is unrecognizable.
Ok, so I guess my break is over, back to work. Thanks for letting me vent.