Telling Stories

I write for a lot of reasons. 

Sometimes, I simply like the way a word sounds or the feeling it evokes, so I craft a poem around that one word. "Obsidian" was my favorite word for a long time. It conveys depth, mystery, glossiness, and darkness all at the same time. Several poems from high school feature that term.

Other times, I am writing to sort through my emotions. I've shared several examples of that already. Writing can be very therapeutic, though I admit it is powerless against my strongest episodes.

Many times, I am writing to tell a story. A couple years ago, I shared my short story "Faded Glory," a ghost tale with a Civil War twist. In grade school, I would craft stories with my best friend as we explored the worlds of Star Wars and Pirates of the Caribbean. I may share more about those in the future.

Today I would like to talk about stories that also serve an emotional purpose. I have written tales and poems in which I allow myself to experience things I've thought about but couldn't bring myself to enact. I have several poems about suicide, for example. I dissected the experience with my words, studying the preceding events and hypothesizing about the consequences. When I was overwhelmed by my depression, it was sometimes cathartic to "let go" without actually letting go.

I've written other stories that explore alternate timelines. As someone who struggles with regret and self-doubt, I can try to figure out what might have existed if I had made different choices. Sometimes, I write stories for my husband to give him the chance to live out alternate possibilities too.

When I was a substitute teacher, I worked on one such story. If you have followed my blog for awhile, you know that my husband went to the Air Force Academy before he left during basic training. He doesn't know exactly why he left, but I often wonder if he would have stayed in Colorado had he not been in a relationship with me at the time. I examined that perspective by starting to write a story in which humans have the capability of altering their past choices. In the story, my fictional husband goes back in time to decline an invitation to go on a date with the wife character.

The man's life progresses in a happy manner until he runs into his former wife, and he starts to have flashbacks of his previous life, consequences of a glitch in the time-change technology. The flashbacks, contrasted with the present reality, force the man to consider how much of our happiness is determined by fate and how much is the result of our choices. The story also examines the unforeseen impact we may have on one another's lives.

You see, I want my husband to have his happily-ever-after. If he would have been happier graduating from USAFA and becoming a pilot, I am sorry about that. I also know that my husband was the first person to take my illness seriously and the first person to get me help. If he had declined my invitation to the homecoming dance, what would my life look like? How much more severe would my disease have become before I got help? Would I even be here? I question so many things in my life, but I don't ever regret the day I nervously asked my husband that important question in AP Chemistry.

I worked on my story as I was able to during my days subbing, so many sections are very short and not fully fleshed out. I may share more of them in the future, but for now, here is an excerpt of a scene in which the male character is receiving counseling after he begins to experience flashbacks of his previous life.


"The glitch exclusively occurs with the individual whose timeline was altered. We changed your decision to attend the dance, but memories of your life with the previous choice will occasionally bubble to the surface. Most clients are happier with their new choices, so the memories don't bother them. Sometimes the memories serve as reminders of how much better things are now, so the clients are glad to experience them!"

Dr. Hawkes leaned back slightly as he finished his proclamation. He smiled without revealing his teeth. Though there was no malice in his voice, his countenance made me think he believed something was wrong with me.

And yet, it was true, wasn't it? I was preparing to marry the woman I believed was perfect for me. My blissful existence with her was interrupted by visions of an imperfect life with a woman recently returned to my world. Apparently I had married her. Apparently it fell apart. Apparently we decided to erase the marriage rather than ending it.

What happened in that alternate reality? What if this marriage failed, too?

It certainly felt like something was wrong with me.

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