thelesbianlifestyle.com

As a writer, I venture into the dark and scary forest of my soul. Perhaps if I wrote children’s stories, it would be different. But I write lesbian literary fiction, where queer characters face their inner demons in order to deal with the challenges before them.

To write these stories, I must face my own fears and actively dredge up memories of sadness, despair and anguish. I have to sit down in the middle of this dreary wood and describe what I see and what I feel. The chill of abandonment. The keening of lost love. The sting of prejudice. The claustrophobic weight of uncertainty.

As much as I love the process of writing, the descent into this selva subterranea is unpleasant at best. I feel the urge to flee and return to the sunshine and the flower-sprinkled meadows. But I maintain my vigil because this is where my stories come from. This is the mother lode for drama, character development and literary tension. This is where my muse lives — not in the daylight, but in the twilight.

I must sit and wait in the drizzle and the dark, even as the shadows threaten to devour me. But eventually, if I am patient, my muse will creep from her burrow. Her fur will bristle against my shoulder. The stench of her breath will burn my eyes. Her whiskers will tickle my ear, as she whispers tales that touch the reader’s soul and illuminate the way out of Hell