Thursday, June 17, 2010

Angst Defined



A feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression

This is me in a nutshell.  The reason I call myself the Angsty Writer.   I truly believe this anxiety and depression makes me a better writer.  I always find the words flowing quickly onto the page when I'm at my most, well, angsty.  I also can ONLY write poetry so far when I feel this way.  It's crazy, I know, but it's me.

This is why I rant and rave.  Why I cry.  I think it's why I mostly write about dark places and death.  Why most my main characters need to be hurt in some way shape or form.  It's like literary cutting. :)

I've said this a million times, writing is a form of therapy for me.  

I am middle aged emo. 

Of course, I'm not all gloom and doom.  I also have my fun quirky flirty side, but that doesn't usually surface when I write.

And now for your reading pleasure (or displeasure) from my novel that may never see the light of day, Lockdown, a very angsty excerpt. :)

      I followed the trail of blood, his blood, a result from his body being dragged across the floor.  That was the red carpet that led to my Pulitzer, my Emmy, my shot at an anchor position.  When I woke up that morning, I would have done anything to get ahead.  At that moment, I regretted every decision I’d made that day, starting with selling out Justice, to entering that Godforsaken school.  That red carpet led from Kevin, past the body of the teenage boy, and out into the hall. 
     I didn’t want to go back the way I came.  I didn’t want to breathe in that stench of death emanating from that classroom with the dead girl.  I passed offices, and the library, which I made the mistake of glancing into.  Blood, everywhere.  Crying.  Bodies.  McGrath would have loved film of that.  No way was I turning that camera on again.
     I passed a staircase, an empty art room, thank God for that, more offices, classrooms, the auditorium.  There was something up ahead on the floor.  I tried to look straight ahead as I passed.  I knew it was a body, blood drying on the floor encircling it.  I couldn’t help from glancing.  The head was gone, nothing but a red, bleeding nub where the neck used to be.  That’s when I started to run.  There was a door at the end of the hallway, the window smashed out.  I threw the camera out the window, I didn’t care if I damaged it, or how much it would cost to fix.  They could take it out of my check for all I cared.
     As I climbed out the window, I was met by a police officer who helped me the rest of the way out.  I picked up the camera, and was led back down the hill, and across the street to the Wal-Mart parking lot, and the empty news van.  I leaned against it, the keys having been in Kevin’s pocket.  I took my cell from my pocket and dialed Mr. McGrath.
     “I need a ride home,” I said.


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