it gets better

All authors have that one character that they just want to wrap in a giant hug and tell them that it's all gonna be okay, everything isn't their fault, and that they still love them, even if no one else does.

For me, that character is Matt.

I love Matty with a fervor. He's really "grown up" over the years (if you can even say that about a fiction of my imagination) and writing him and his story has been a growing experience for the both of us. If I could, I'd kidnap him and keep him hostage from all the mean things and we'd watch LOTR and drink hot cocoa and have a good old time. 

And yet every time I sit down to write, I feel like cracking my knuckles and wiggling my eyebrows, asking, "Just what can I do today to make the poor boy's life miserable?"

Yes, I am probably a sadist at heart. 

I guess the thing that makes me have the push and pull feeling when it comes to Matt is the fact that I know how it's going to end. I know how he ends up changing. I know how much he's going to hurt to the exact degree. I know, because it all started in my head.

 It's the curse of the author--to write the character, you see from their point of view--in some cases, you have to live it. And no, I don't think of Matty as a version of myself as much as I have in the past. I've never lost a friend to suicide, let alone my brother. I'm somewhat reclusive, but not as much as he is. He has PTSD, something I've never experienced before. In some ways, I'm out of my depth, writing a character who deals with issues like this. However, I don't feel like I can give up on Matt.


Because we've all had those days. The days when you're just too tired to stand. When someone asks you if you're okay, and you're really really not. When your head hurts from banging it against the wall (whether it be literally or figurative). When you wake up in the morning, and after five seconds of peaceful emptiness, the emotional drain on your spirit returns.

It's kind of funny, but if my Matt were human--if he was the kid across the street with the black backpack and the permanent scowl, if he were the guy I sit across from in class, if I could tangibly see him, touch him, talk to him--there's just one thing that I want to say to him.

The sun will come out. I promise. 

I promise. 


  1. My brother has PTSD. It sucks... A lot.
    Yeah I know those days. Typically I'll just lay around all day and ponder if the struggle that is life is still worth it. Thankfully, eventually I come to decision that it is. :)

  2. I know what you mean. I become so attached to my characters and just want to tell them, "no no no, don't make me love you because BAD THINGS ARE GONNA HAPPEN." augh. so tough.

    thanks for the comment on my blog the other day. it made me smile. glad you were able to read and be encouraged. hope to see you around again sometime. have a lovely week!



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