I Know That Story

I have been wrecked in the head trying to write this new book. I knew the plot, I knew the story….or so I thought. I wanted to have a child clutching to a purple bear for safety. But, why purple? While clutching the teddy bear she could hide the bruises from abuse.

I gave the idea to Phillip, Kara, George…..(cringes all around). They all suggested that it was too heavy, too horrible a subject for the softness of a children’s book about a teddy bear. Phillip suggested that the reason she wanted a purple bear was to help camouflage a birth mark on her face.

Wasn’t a bad idea, really. So, I sat here trying to write a story about something I knew nothing about. I paced, I washed dishes, I got cranky and screamed at the cats for meowing. Nothing worked. Words weren’t coming to me. The whole plot line was so precious, but the Universe wouldn’t inspire, muses wouldn’t court me. I guess I could dust the blinds while I wait for something to make me want to pen a story I knew nothing about. How horrid it would be just to script out crap for the sake of literary motion.

A little girl with a birth mark wants a purple teddy bear to hide it….

No.

I had no choice but to sit down and tell the truth to myself, in my own artistic way, tell the truth, tell a story that I’m familiar with. This book should be about child abuse. And it isn’t about a girl, but a boy….

Yes. That is the story I know. A young boy being physically abused…and hiding his pain behind the soft strength of a plush teddy bear….

And now this old man is peering into the heart of his childhood, still clutching a plushy.

I’m now pages and pages into writing a beautiful tale about something painful….because I know that story, and I feel much better about that because I know that it has a happy ending.