A dark place…

You never know where the muse will take you when you write.

Sometimes you have to follow her into the dark.

This little outlet of mine is part blog, part fiction, part confessional, so it’s only fair that I tell you:

it’s so dark where she’s going, I can barely see.

I used to think that crazy behaviors on the parts of writers/actors/artists was just some cop out that they used to excuse their excess.

After trying to create some worthwhile reading for you out of the words in my head, I can now understand much better why some quit and walk away.

I can also see why some go off the deep end.

You see, the two stories that I have written here are true.  The ghostly visitor and the murderer – both real and actual occurrences in my life.  I made some minor tweaks to disguise the identity of the murderer, but it was indeed a real person.

And after all the years I have spent in the funeral business, I have so much more to draw upon.

Some of it scares me.  A lot.  I have to try and worm my way into the brain of some very messed up people.  And it’s not a place that I like to go to.

A dark place.  THE dark place.

And as for my absence here of late, I want you to know that I was working through another one of these life stories in my brain with every intent to post something last Thursday.

Until I get hit by the biggest, baddest Mama Jama of a panic/anxiety attack that I have ever had.  It took me a place that I have never been before.

Never. Ever.

And it scares the crap out of me that it spun so far out of control.

It almost took me to a dark place.

I pulled the reins and got the wagon back under control.  Thank goodness.

But for a while, the horses were running free and I was like Kevin Costner in the opening scene of “Dances With Wolves” – arms outstretched, eyes closed, awaiting the fates and not caring where I landed.

I can’t say if this is all because of writing, because the ghosts and skeletons were already stuffed in the mental closets…

But writing unlocks the doors and jiggles the doorknobs of the doors already creaking under the strain and ready bust open.

Bear with me friends.  It might be a bumpy ride.


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