This new YA I’m working on is without a doubt, the darkest thing I’ve ever written. My last YA touched on some heavier themes (and may have brought a critique partner or two to tears) but this one is…well, it’s hard to write.
Putting yourself inside the brain of a character who’s suffering can take a toll, especially if you tend to be on the empathetic side of things. My spirits have been low, my moods much more gray since I’ve been writing this new story. (And that’s before everything that’s happened in the last week, right now I can barely get words out.)
A lot of the things I write about stem from very real events in my past – although spun out and expanded on in the most dramatic way possible – and dwelling on such dark moments can feel like a waking nightmare.
And yet I persevere. Because I think it’s important to get this story (these stories) out into the world. Because if I can touch just one person with my words, it’s worth it. But this comic by b. patrick says it much more eloquently than I can.
So for now I’m going to buckle down and finishing sprinting through the darkness to the end of this draft, in the hope that I can find some light at the end of all this darkness.