I was going to write my usual mediocre nonsense about nature and life, but…
I’m not going to pretend I’m some enlightened individual feeding on pure cosmic energies and sunshine. I have no wisdom to share. I came into the world as a blank page, gradually life left its marks on the surface of me, until… I began to write. Writing feels like some strange process of erasure; the more I’m writing, the more I’m doubting my words. Maybe it’s the sense of responsibility, the absolutely paralyzing seconds I see that my work has been read.
It’s good to spread positivity, but meaningless positivity, attempting to release us from responsibility is poison. It’s sugar - good in small doses but use it as the main course all day every day, it will destroy you. The sugar rush gives an illusion of strength and liberation - you’re wonderful, you’re amazing, there’s not a care in the world! As nice as it makes me feel for a couple of minutes, the cool chill of common-sense sets in and makes me arch my brow, and then the anger comes. The hot day of sunshine and daisies collides with the cold winds of sense and dark clouds begin to gather above my head.
Anger is as natural as a thunderstorm. In some cases, it’s a cleansing power, a thought brewing in my mind until it is released in written word. Anger is an itch in my heart when I see the blind leading the blind.
Superficial positivity is a short-term solution if there’s a real problem lurking underneath. As writers we must be careful about the messages we spread.
You have to take responsibility for your words, just like you take responsibility for your actions. I would even dare to say words are actions. You can’t just dump some bullshit on others and walk happily away like your job is done. Writing isn’t all sunshine and daisies.
If you’re not writing a private journal meant for your eyes only, then it’s inevitable that you must think where you’ll put it. How will you share it. Yes, writing can be a fun pursuit, but ask yourself - what is it I want to share with the world? You have to understand the weight of words. Are you willing to carry the weight of your words on your own shoulders; to take responsibility for what you share? Because at some point you’ll have to do it.
But what if this message of anger scares potential authors to write that first word? Good! Good! They should be scared. Writing and sharing pieces of your heart publicly is not a pursuit for the faint-hearted. As I’ve been told repeatedly - criticism and rejections are a part of writer’s life, suck it up and get used to it.
If you don’t find that courage within you, no positive message is going to help you in the long term.
The air seems clearer after a good short thunderstorm. If it lingers it’s a destructive force. A short flare of righteous anger may give the courage to speak one’s mind, but it should never be used as a weapon to hurt. Don’t get me wrong, a sincere message of positivity can be like a breath of fresh air. But after spending some time in the virtual space among writers, I’ve noticed a number of superficial sugar-coated positive messages and the only thing they evoke in me is anger.
A short moment after I wrote this, I heard the first springtime thunder rumbling in the distance. Dangerous business, writing…
(If you haven’t unsubscribed by this point, here’s a couple more reasons to do it!) Just kidding! A bit of flash fiction and poetry…
Ritual
The seat by the window with the city view. The cappuccino with two sugars. The freshly baked cinnamon roll. The spoon ringing like a silver bell in his cup. Mr. Delaney sat there in his favourite spot of the Corner cafe every Saturday afternoon. Fifty years. Every Saturday. The staff called him Grandpa Poet. He wrote love poems. One each Saturday. Sometimes he read it to the young waitresses. He left a generous tip and went away. Saturday after Saturday, poem after poem, until one Saturday his seat was empty. The staff waited. When he didn’t come, they knew. The owner renamed the cafe to Poet’s Corner cafe. They held the opening of his book there when Mr. Delaney’s children published it. Every Saturday a poetry reading is being organised in the Poet’s Corner. The old poet’s ritual lives on.
Moonrise (the song of the envious vampire) (horror poem!)
I despise the sunlit blue of the sky.
My hour is midnight blue. I rise
With the moon. I envy the noon
Hours of sun, bathing your skin.
Forgive the envy in my cold veins.
Rejoice in your warmth, I’ll take it away
In the hour of moonrise. I envy
the warmth of your skin,
The ruby-red blood running within
You. Let me taste the colour of sin
Before daylight wins. I wish
Death to the newborn day.
If I’m cursed to forever hide in the shade
So will you. I’m a creature made
Of moonlit suffering, trapped in the grave
Of my envious yearning, and you’ll be my mate.
Don’t fight the dark fate, let us suffocate
In the depths of despair. The sun always comes too late.
I won’t wait, I won’t hesitate to make
You mine. The moonrise is the time
I’ll drink the blood-red wine your
Tender skin hides. Don’t cry!
I envy your tears. I’ve run out of mine.
Haunting (horror poem!)
To feel your cool and rhythmic breath
pulsing gently on my neck.
To sense you longing for a touch,
Your presence is a haunting rush.
I feel your hand float closer gently,
My eyes search the empty
Room. No one stands behind
Me. Please, don’t hide.
I need you. Even though
You’re just a memory.
I’m glad you’re still here! Now for some micro news:
On Monday, April 29, I’m sharing the next chapter of my urban fantasy Cirque du Macabre 2. All the chapters of book 1 and 2 are free to read on my Substack.
On Wednesday, May 1, I’m sharing the next chapter of my dark romantic fantasy The Heiress of the Lake.
On Thursday, May 2, I’m sharing Thorny Thursday, a compilation of romance and love-themed writing by Substack authors. I myself might share an epilogue to my romance story The Tears of a Tulip.
On Sundays I try to share some thoughts I’ve written down over the week, along with a bit of short-form writing - flash fiction and poetry.
Thank you for reading! I might be a bit much sometimes, I know. Forgive me. Right now is a time when I am able to share quite a lot of my writing, but life goes on and I might be sharing less in the future. Thank you for your patience!
Love,
Kathrine 🩶
All of this is perfect, beat for beat. Nothing amateur about it. Thank you for sharing these pieces. 👏
Loved the poetry!
And your statements about responsibilities in writing and anger.
An anecdote,
Recently I wrote an angry rant. I was very angry, sarcastic, scathing from beginning to end.
I published it here in Substackistan.
Then to my surprise I received a comment, thanking me for the needed positive message that restored hope in a bad situation.
I was baffled considering my state of mind in writing...
Maybe sometimes our words have a life and purpose of their own apart from our intent.