Vulnerabilities...

I read mostly fiction as a steady diet. I read into the wee hours of the morning, or while I should be writing. While I indulge in this reading spree to research factual characteristics for my fictional characters, an important realization was taking place, even fictional characters are vulnerable, and for me, it’s the essence behind writing my novel.

I mused about this concept while I read, walked, pulled weeds, and cleaned house. I kept thinking about the idea of vulnerability how it applied to my life, my relationships, and my sorrows. I cannot speak for your vulnerabilities, but I’ve been ripped off, lied to, slandered, gossiped about, slapped, falsely accused and had my truths not believed. I’ve had my heart broken, my pride stomped on, witnessed unforgivable acts, and heard words that hurt so much I wish they didn’t keep replaying in my mind—but they did and still do. In all these moments, some tear soaked, some life defining, but all of them character building moments…I have felt vulnerable.

I believe when a person feels scared, and alone, and overwhelmed, and pissed off, when the sting of unfairness sinks its teeth in, bites deep and makes you miserable, it makes for a great story. We don’t—well let me clarify that—I don’t, read fiction to follow the perfect lives of perfect people who float through blissful days filled with sunshine and baby bunnies. Instead, I/we want to wallow in a character’s misery and struggles, to plunge into his or her emotional depths, to experience the doubts, worries, and pains of someone else to lessen my own vulnerabilities.

Doing everyday tasks and when I write, memories of my childhood vulnerabilities would strike with another vivid snapshot. One of the first was down in our basement, which was set up as our family room. It’s where we all watched television, of the black and white variety. It was a dark, stormy Saturday afternoon; my brother had a friend over and we watched The House on Haunted Hill. Out went the lights—naturally, the only way to watch that type of movie—I thought it was big stuff to be watching a scary movie with my older brother. But the boys decided to tease me and as a joke, for the duration of the movie they grabbed me from behind, screeching and imitating the witch. I sat there terrified, unable to move, with my heart beating out of my chest. For years, I envisioned, whenever I walked into a dark room, a bony claw would clamp down on my arm. Because of many more incidents like this, it’s no wonder Halloween was never a favorite holiday.

In our childhood, we also first meet real life bad guys. These cruel lessons come in the form of a classroom bully, a sadistic cousin (yes, I had one of the worst), a teacher who has it in for you, (I had a couple of those too), or just a creepy stranger. At an early age, we learn distrust and unease, and because life holds dangers, we discover that it takes resilience and courage to navigate through our days; sometimes doing things, we’re not very proud of. These are the type of incidents that make up the heart of tantalizing fiction. And, these are the type of memories I touch on when I write. We all can relate to vulnerable characters in precarious situations, because we’re well acquainted with our own fears and feelings of vulnerability.

Peace everyone...