I started writing after my grandmother died. Grandma was basically a mother to me. When she died my world crashed around me. As a child I had been abused by a great uncle who had been my babysitter between the time I was almost five and almost seven. Because I was adopted, he threatened my parents would take me back to the adoption agency. I didn't talk about it and ended blocking it most of the way out of my brain. My grandma was my life preserver. Her death began a chain of events that hurt like bloody hell and caused even more pain than the abuse I had suffered.
I wrote fiction stories as a way to deal. My writing kept me alive until fifteen when I almost gave up the ghost and my parents and I both realized I needed some help. That's the beginning.
I am struggling with the people out there that think my writing should be less-- for lack of a better word-- gory, bloody, real-- take your pick.
The Key to Her Heart has opened the door to talk to people about the things in their lives that have hurt them, and that is a blessing and sometimes a curse. At the very least it is new and at times a little tear jerking. I am grateful to have a voice for others and for myself. I am also grateful to be able to be so blindly blunt that I could write down a story that scrapes so many people the wrong way, and still has freed so many others to talk about their own experiences. I am not apologetic about that because I don't see sweeping the ugly under the proverbial rug helps anyone.
It is only in looking hard at the darkness of my own experiences that I can be thankful for the healing that has come into my life. When I tried to make it disappear or minimized it's impact I died inside. You cannot, even for a moment, (unless you've been through it) understand what it is like to pretend everything is alright or nothing happened when it did and it's not. That is a place I will never-- let me say that again with capitals so you understand NEVER-- go again. I died in that place-- and I do mean that literally. It took God to bring me back to life. When that happened I chose to live, cuts, warts, bruises, broken bones and all.
That means I say like it is, and when I write I write the dark horrible scenes as they are-- dark and horrible. I write a story that has reality mixed in. That is the only way I know how to write. I can't clean up the mess that my enemies left of my life. I can only go on to a new place and hope it does not happen again. God in his grace has been the one to stitch up my wounds and clean them out when they were festered. He has helped me forgive and accept the way it is. Terrible wounds that almost leave you dead are not without scars after they are healed. I am not afraid of that, and I won't hide them even if it is prettier.
For those who think that just because you are Christian bad things do not happen-- I've got news for you. Do you think Jesus's own mother didn't suffer? What about Jesus himself? He hung on a cross! He tells us to take up our cross!
God does not do the damage, but he does allow it. I'm not going to try to understand. I do not. All I know is after the damage, He's the one that helped me up. If it happens again, I know He will help me to survive. I won't hide it. I won't stop writing it like it is. It's ugly and it's horrible, but it is real just as much as the sweet moments in my life are real. I would not cut out Anna's marriage scene. No one would wish that. I won't cut out the rape scene either. I hate it. It was deleted and rewritten-- I don't know how many times. I hate Wolffe, but he is just what my rapists were and my daughters' rapists were. He can't be hidden or swept away. I'm sorry. Life would be much easier that way wouldn't it?
Guess what?
I spent from fifteen to seventeen trying to pretend nothing happened. I ended up hearing freaking voices! It is a lie! Not facing it, sweeping it away, pretending it didn't happen makes you go insane! Then you get so desperate to escape you either take up an addiction or commit suicide! I know I did it. I would have been burning in hell, except God pulled me out!I'm not talking figuratively here. I took ten bottles of pills, and ended on the floor feeling the flames of hell and hearing the world's cries and not being able to do a damn thing while I could hear my parents freaking out because I was on the floor not responding and I couldn't tell them nor respond to them either. I was helpless! I couldn't do a living freaking thing! Nothing! It is not a place I ever want to go again. So I won't be silent. I won't write pretty little stories that make you feel good and have no dark in them. I won't pretend that I feel wonderful when I'm dying inside. I won't tell you everything is fine when life has gone to hell in a hand basket.
If I say things are great believe me they are, and if I've had a fight with my son and came two inches close to wringing his neck you probably will hear about it if you run into me that day. I will laugh at a joke, and I will cry when I hurt. I refuse to hide. That is how my writing is also.
So if you can't handle that then don't read it, obviously you aren't the person God told me about that needs my stories. That's alright. If you chose to read my book, then please understand that I do not apologize for the content. It is not PG, and there is no way I can make it that way and have it still be the story that God told me to publish. And yes in a multiple of ways God did tell me to publish, and told me how to go about it. So if you have a problem then take it up with Him. But be forewarned if you do-- since it was Him who told me to take on this venture I have the feeling He does not share your sentiments. Sorry if I offended anyone-- well honestly, not really, but I am sorry if this rubs you the wrong way.
If on the other hand this makes you curious, well then below are the links to Amazon & Smashwords, and you can decide for yourself what you think.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Key-Heart-Family-Book-ebook/dp/B00FS6MYR8
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/566759
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