So, Vicky and I were out driving last night. We’d just seen the Long Beach Symphony play. Fantastic show. Vicky was craving Pinks, so we were on the freeway for a while. And I was telling her what I decided to write next.
My next project is going to be a return to some very personal writing for me. From my first book, I’ve developed this style where I will take truths and characters and feelings and reflections on my own life and put them in a reality of my own choosing. This often makes for some really good story telling and I enjoy it.
The problem with this kind of writing, though, is where I often find my best stories. These are usually drawn from the part of my life that has caused me so much pain, and the provider has universally been the memory of my ex-wife. If there’s one thing I hate telling Vicky, it’s that I’m going to do that. I fear that she thinks I’m pining for something I had, when in reality it’s another opportunity for me to turn this horrible loss into… well, into cash.
I fear that Vicky will think this means I don’t love her.
But what I realized last night (I’ve been up all night working on rewrites to a new play, in case you’re wondering) is just how much Vicky really gets it. In fact, this realization has kind of blown me away. I mean, for the longest time, I didn’t get it! Just thinking about writing anything in any way related to my ex sent me running for the hills. It took me time to understand that the thing I do well is to take my pain and use it. It’s what I call “using your loss without reliving your loss”.
The last thing I want to do is hurt Vicky. And it means so much to me to know that I won’t.