The current chapter in my book (the one I’m working on right now) is one of those big cathartic ones. The main character in the story is having a breakdown, a complete and total shit fit.
The target of his rage might or might not deserve anger, it doesn’t really matter. His anger is irrational, and destructive. There’s no positive in it, nothing that makes his anger helpful to him or to anyone else.
That anger, it lives inside me. Most of the time I keep it tramped down, make it harmless. However, sometimes it gets out, it feels like a wildfire, scouring everything in my life, burning it to the ground and leaving it dead an grey. Sometimes that allows for renewal, other times it just leaves me with a dead and dying landscape around me.
Writing it is a way to express it, but it’s also a way for me to understand it. Sometimes it’s hard to sort through my own emotional state, to make sense of something like why this rage is there, what it means, what form it takes inside me. Writing another character experiencing that can help a great deal.
Having said that, it’s a damned hard thing to write. I’m talking about a part of myself that I’m far, far from proud of. It’s one of the pieces of myself that I dislike the most, an immature part of me, something that is stuck in adolescence. Seeing that reflected back at me on the page is, well, painful.