My Stumbling Block

I know, two posts in one day!

I spoke to my stepmother yesterday, when I was in Paperchase, and something she said led to a light bulb moment regarding why I struggle to put stuff out there.

I had posted something on Facebook about wanting to write and how my house was like Piccadilly Circus, thereby making writing impossible.  She had just been here for the weekend with her partner and this made them (or him) think I had aimed the post at them.  This was so far from the truth.  I was more meaning the general day to day comings and goings of a house with teenage children.  But I got to thinking about what she had said, I know, dangerous.

One of the reasons I delete so much stuff is because I fear offending people.  I love my family, extended and otherwise, and would be mortified if I upset them.  But actually, I can’t write without upsetting somebody.  People will always speculate if a character is based on them, and in fact, it may be so!  All characters are amalgamations of people writers have encountered.  Also, this is my life, and as such, I have a right to write, right?  So I’m afraid, people will just have to get used to this!  I am a writer, I will write, and I will write what I like.  Writing is cathartic, and I have a tremendous amount of pent up hurt to release.  Whatever I write, someone will always think it is about them.

And I am really, really starting to hate Facebook.

1 Comment

Filed under Facebook, Family, Hurt, On Offending, Writing

One response to “My Stumbling Block

  1. I worry about hurting my stepfamily and my dad, but you have to be you. You are you, and everyone should celebrate it. I was the basis for a psychotic killer in a book that was made into a TV movie when my exboyfriend’s mother wrote a book. She used details from our relationship that were eerily the same yet twisted them to make me psychotic. It really upset me for a while, especially when she made me male, as if changing my gender permitted the use of private things, but then I figured, who cares. She doesn’t know me at all, and I celebrate that I am not in that family. Woo-hoo!! She is lucky I read the book. Perhaps the qualities that really were like me were part of what made the story successful, and that’s a good feeling. LOL

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