After all, I'm not responsible for keeping people informed.
If I spoke, people might be offended.
People might think the wrong way.
People might blame others for an "accident."
I'm sorry.
That's why this corner of the internet has been so quiet for so long.
Not just in fiction but stemmed in reality, I've been forced to keep quiet in a few areas about what I did and how I feel. For example, last month, I was reunited with someone who had been my best friend, and I was told to keep all of the whisperings of doubt and relief that had developed over our distance inside - to only chit-chat. This week, I was suffering because someone was playing with my heart and blatantly disrespecting my body, and I was told to keep my hatred and my accusations to myself - to forget anything happened. Over the last several months, I've been trying to help a young girl navigate her early teenage years, but I was told to paint life lightly, not in the brutal battlefield that it is - to stay silent about reality until it was too late. As a result, she was hurt - hurt exactly as I knew she would be - before I could warn her.
I don't have problems that need answers.
I don't need suggestions for solutions.
I have stories and no outlet.
Fiction is based deeply in reality; there is no fiction apart from reality. What I've been writing has been "too accurate to life". I need to blur the intense pain that I've experienced; I need to keep quiet about exactly what happened to others from my point of view - because they might know themselves, but they don't want to hear it. My characters are too obvious; my plot arcs are too close to touchy subjects: the LGBTQ community, racism, feminism.
I, an author, should delete what I just wrote.
I probably said too much already.
But, haha, oh, this is just the beginning.
Write on!
Clove
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