The Joy, Heartache and Fun of Writing

The joy, heartache and fun of writing may sound strange but think about it.  In writing you get to create characters, worlds and scenes that you, the writer is in charge. 

Let's try a little experiment.  You go the work and you have a really bad week, we all have them or had them.  You just want to scream and inflict bodily harm, however you can't.  After all this is your job and it pays certain things, such as food, housing, etc.  How do you deal with the stress?

Write.

Write a short story and create a character whose characteristic closely resemble your problem(s) in real life.  Then have that person(s) suffer an unfortunate incident that causes his/her demise.  The same holds true for something very upsetting.  I cannot guarantee that the writing will be easy, what I can guarantee is when you are done writing, you will feel relieved, and you can smile again.  You then have the option of tearing the story up or polishing the story and submitting the same for publication.  Writing is a natural way of releasing your emotions and better than drugs or alcohol any day. 

Here is an award winning short story I wrote.

THE NATURAL STATE OF BEING

The cream colored, delicately embossed envelope lay innocently enough on the simple white plate, yet the governor's seal in the upper left hand corner hinted at the importance of the message inside.  I knew what the envelope contained.

“Do you still persist in believing this nonsense?”  Gabriella asked.  Voluminous strawberry curls draped her pale face.  “What are you waiting for?  Or are you afraid to read what's in there?”

“No Gaby.  But you're wrong.”

She reached out for the object of dispute.  “Well, Lucinda, then let me do the honor.”  And she promptly used her knife to slice open the envelope and, using her thumb and forefinger, deftly removed the invitation.  I saw the cruel smile form on her face and for the first time I noticed the age lines on her pale skin as she read the message to herself.

“Read it,” Gaby uttered maliciously as she deposited the linen paper in front of me.  The black ink glared menacingly back while a tear crept down my cheek.

“In compliance with the Laws of the Sovereign State, you are hereby ordered to attend the execution . . .”  I trailed off amid Gabriella's hollow laughter that drowned my voice as the echo of her glee reverberated in the stark room.

“Lucy, can't you see?  This proves my point.  Good people don’t get executed.  Only damaged people are.”

I stirred the sugar in my cup and the sun broke through the closed window in a myriad of colors that splashed across the gray wall, dousing it in subtle, dainty hues.

“Gabriella, the natural state of being is good.  Look at it this way, a well-adjusted person will raise an alike person.  A child that is damaged by a parent while being raised will eventually go awry.  After all, when we break things, how do we glue them back together so they won’t break again?”

The screech of the opening jail door pierced in resonating agony through the silent night.  The Guard shuffled softly along the bleak corridor, afraid of waking the single prisoner housed in the Death Row compound.  The condemned person’s last night was here and a suicide watch had been posted.  The Guard was on his way to relieve the mid-night Shift.  The soft yellow light illuminated the sleeping area and he saw the rhythmic breathing beneath the blanket and the peaceful, handsomely angelic profile of the sleeper in the night.

"What now, Lucy?  You're the bright one with all the answers.”

“We have to go, Gaby.”

“I’ve told you the Governor would not grant a pardon.”

“Why should he?  The crimes were terrible and the public outcry too loud.  Remember what we learned during the trial?”

“Yes.  Yes.  Abuse, mistreatment, drugs, torture as a child, then foster homes, etc., etc.  A routine story.

“Gabriella, routine?  I don't think so!”

“So what Lucy.  Other people survived lives like that.”

I looked at Gaby.  She seemed innocence personified, but cruelty was her daily bread, and unforgiving her creed to live by.  Yet, I loved her.  She was part of me, belonged to me, and was spawned by me.  But in the last months, our arguments had become worse as the days passed and the execution date neared.  For the umpteenth time I would try to convince her that her conclusion was wrong.  “Then name me one person that survived?” 

Gaby swirled her hair in her hands, forming more and more curls as her hazel eyes, dazed, looked far beyond the window into a distant world only she knew.  The cruel smile again formed around her lips.  “You, Lucinda.”

“I don’t count.  It's much too easy of an answer.”

Thoughts of protest sputtered out.  “Well, I don’t know other people’s lives.  They do not tell me what is going on in their heads.  So how would I know?”

Bravo Shift came on, relieving the guard from Alpha Shift. “Did the prisoner pick the menu yet?”  the relief asked.

“The list of wishes was slipped outside the door.”

The guard glanced at the slowly ticking clock posted on the wall.  It was a standard, institutional issue and blended in smoothly with its drab surroundings.  A white porcelain face, black roman numerals with matching black minute hands, and a red second hand.  No gray and no doubts existed here, just starkness, clear-cut.  “Well, we better get the show on the road.  Three hours pass quickly,” he uttered as the red second hand clicked along.

The Guard unlocked the cell door, entered, and tapped the sleeper lightly on the shoulder.  Before the condemned prisoner could be strapped into the chair, a whole litany of regulations had to be complied with.

“Your ordered meal will be served shortly.  The minister is waiting along with the doctor.”

Sleep-filled eyes blinked back momentary disorientation and a yawn was the prisoner’s unspoken reply.  The guard coughed lightly to hide his discomfort with the silent reply before asking, “Whom would you like to see first?”

“Does it matter?”  whispered the prisoner.

“No.  I guess I’ll bring the doctor in first, seeing that you're not dressed.  It would not be right to bring the priest in, with you still  . . .”  The words trailed off as the guard unlocked the door and re-locked it on his way out.

“Lucy, you should have told them how it all began.”  Gaby said accusingly as her fork speared the steak and brought the juicy morsel to her lips.  “Their bleeding hearts would have understood.”  Gaby's wide-open mouth revealed perfect teeth that chomped on the meat with gusto.

“Gabriella, remember mother’s words?  ‘Don’t air your dirty laundry in public?’  I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it, besides the doctors, the police and the attorney all did it for me.”

“Yeah, but nothing beats hearing it from the mouth of the person who witnessed it.  And you were there, there is no way of denying it.”   

“You’re right.  I saw it all.  This is why I believe that our natural way of being is good.”

“No, Lucy, you’re wrong.  Besides, you’re afraid to talk about what happened and what went on.  That’s why you're using mother's words to hide behind them.”

“Gaby, I’m not afraid.  Embarrassed, yes!”  The hot coffee burnt going down my constricted throat, as the bitter memories of the past welled up in me, creating their own acid taste in my mouth.

“You're remembering, aren’t you?”

“Yes.  And it was bad.”

“You still can’t talk about it Lucy, can you?”

I looked at Gaby.  She was there when it first happened.  She saw it and she could talk about it in her matter of fact way, why not I?  “You're right.  I’m so sorry.”  Tears ran down my cheeks.  I brought my hands up to my face and resting my elbows on the table, I cried.  The pain of what I had known was as ever present as the pale moon against the black sky.

“Lucy stop it.  I can’t stand it when you get all weepy and sappy,” Gaby shouted.  “You have to do what I do.  Every time the pain comes, I act on it.  It’s simple and it works.”

“Oh child, how I wish it would be this simple.  But someone is dying today because of our pain.”

“Dying?  No, Lucinda.  Executed, yes!  And all because you did not want to talk!”

“No.  I can’t.”  I screamed back at her and blackness engulfed me as the horrid memories of the deeds surfaced.  But Gabriella’s seductive voice penetrated the fog of pain and the haze of fear in me.

“Get even, Lucy!  Get even.  That’s the secret.”

The prisoner shivered lightly as the steel stethoscope touched naked skin.  The doctor’s examination was thorough.  According to the law, the prisoner had to be in perfect health before execution.  The irony brought a smile to the condemned person’s face as the doctor pronounced, “The prisoner is healthy and ready to be executed.”

The doctor placed his hand on the head, “I’m sorry.  Please forgive me, but I had no choice.”

Hazel eyes looked up at the man, while slender fingers buttoned the shirt and in a hushed tone she whispered. “Yes,” came forth.  Relieved, the doctor waved at the guard to open the door for him.

The Warden entered the cell.  “Do you have any thing to say?”

She looked up, shaking her head in silence.

“You are the third woman in our state’s history to be executed.  I know you killed all the people, but why do I feel that you don't deserve to die?  I have to know for myself: why didn't you talk at your trial?”  The hands in his pockets were balled into fists.  His jaw was clenched and the sharp pain in his head constricted his eyes.  “If you only would have talked, they would have spared your life.”  He paused lightly before asking, “Are you ready?”

As an answer, the woman stood up, smiled forlornly, and began to lead the way to the chamber with the priest by her side.  The clock on the wall ticked and ticked as the woman walked silently toward her death on a plush, red carpet that ended in front of the open door.  She knew that the room behind contained the beckoning chair and was encircled with glass walls to allow the invited witnesses to observe the execution. 

“Lucy, look around the chamber.  Didn’t I tell you everyone asked would be here?”

“It’s the law, Gaby.  Besides, people enjoy sensationalism.”

“Did you see her?  She looks almost happy.  She can’t wait until it's all over.”

The guard snapped on the restraints and the sharp smell of alcohol permeated the air as he swabbed the marked places on her skin to clean them of body oil.  Finished cleaning the exposed areas, he squirted gel from a tube onto the dry skin, assuring a perfect contact for the electrodes.  The prisoner was ready!  The red second hand of the clock ticked with maddening determination towards the time of execution.  The hooded Executioner watched the hand move.  It was time. 

Gaby panted with fear as recognition surfaced in her.  Her hands grabbed my shoulders and the strong hold of her grip belied her fragility.  “My God, Lucy, stop her.  Don’t let her do it.  She’s killing me.  Oh please, stop her.”

The prisoner's eyes opened and acceptance was in them.  She was all of them—Gabriella, Lucinda and the damaged self.     “Gabriella, we had to stop you, that's why we never spoke.”

“You just don't understand, I had the right.”  Gabriella fought back, her body writhing, trying to escape.

The Executioner yanked the switch down.  The light flickered and finally, she was at peace.