Sometimes writers have this amazing ability to write about their lives—the conflicts, emotions, big problems—without ever realizing it. It’s as though our subconscious says, “Here’s a safe place. Let’s make that big issue you had in third grade a CHICKEN and let’s make that other issue into a WOLF … hahahaha … now you’ll never realize it, but we just worked out all our problems!” It’s only later that some wise friend explains that the chicken wasn’t really a chicken, it was XYZ. The unsuspecting author may have really thought she was writing about a chicken. That’s called writing behind your back … and it’s really amazing. And it’s not as painful as some other types of writing.

Painful writing happens when the emotional topic isn’t neatly hidden inside your subconscious. It’s right out there and you can see it, and feel it, and you really, really, really don’t want to write about it. This type of writing can cause you to cry in coffee-houses as you pour your emotion into the keyboard (while the other coffee-house folks look at you and wonder if you’re quite alright). I’ve heard this scenario called going into your basement (or your attic) and bringing the boxes up, opening them, and writing about that stuff you tucked away for safe keeping.

I had an instructor at Hamline who was all about finding those painful boxes, bringing them upstairs, and then putting them into a rummage sale for all to see, and pick up, and try to bid you down to a dollar before walking away… (okay, so she never said to put the emotions out in the rummage sale—but for heaven’s sake—that’s how I saw it. Those boxes are mine – got it? And you aren’t taking my Barbies for a dollar. I packed them away because I wanted them GONE (but not gone, gone — just out of sight — okay?). Some writers thrive this way—mining their own past traumas and turning them into emotionally raw works of art. This just doesn’t work for me. At least, not at this point in my life. If it works for you—bless you.

So—how do you deal with writing emotional scenes when you’re fully aware of the issue you’re really dealing with? Beats me. I’m asking you. I’d love to share your thoughts with my friend. She needs a bit more support than I could offer. Clearly, I just make things into chickens and go on with my life. But, maybe, one day I’ll head down into that cobwebby crawlspace and drag out that giant box that I tapped up so well I would NEVER, EVER have to open it again.

But not today. Bwaakk. Bwaak!