Embracing the Darkness
By Julia Munroe Martin | November 25, 2019 |
by frank-hb via Flickr Creative Commons
I’m a bury-my-head-in-the-blanket kind of guy. When something scary comes on TV or in a movie, I hide until it’s over. I’m famous for it. My kids know it. My friends know it. My husband knows it. He’s my enabler. Because when things get really bad, I plug my ears, too, and he lets me know when it’s safe to come out.
So, a few years back when I had the seed of an idea for a novel of psychological suspense—a dark story about a husband and wife who each have a secret life they are hiding from the other and the dangerous game of cat and mouse that results—I stalled out. I had a situation. And the situation was a good idea, but it wasn’t really a story. It had no depth. More than that, I couldn’t figure out why it had no depth. I couldn’t figure out how to make the situation into a story.
And it was even more than that. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t figure it out.
Then one day something happened. I talked to a writer friend who knew I’d been stuck for a while without a story I felt passionate about. I had about four ideas I’d been mulling over, I told her, but nothing really excited me. Amanda offered to take a look at the synopses I’d written. When I sent them, this one—the darkest one—jumped out. “I want to read it! Tell me more!” As we talked about it, the blanket slipped to one side and the darkness crept in. At first, I pulled the blanket back over my head. I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to “go there.” I wanted to tell a safe story, something that didn’t make me crave a blanket to bury myself into.
But the story kept creeping back. I kept thinking about it, and it demanded more. It demanded darkness. And I couldn’t let it go.
My story epiphany happily coincided with going to the Writer Unboxed Unconference. I seized the opportunity to really embrace the story’s development. A story that is quickly becoming the darkest thing I’ve considered writing. It takes place in two extreme places: in the middle of a starkly hot African desert and the dead of winter on a rural farm in Vermont. It takes place in two extreme states of mind: the euphoria of falling in love and the desperation of finding out someone you love is trying to drive you crazy. At the UnConference, sessions took me through questions and revelations about character and plot and setting—they helped take the story deeper.
Why this story?
If you’ve read my posts for a while, you know that the past few years have been rough ones—writing-wise and personal-wise—I’ve had trouble writing and writing has troubled me. I’ve felt like my ability to write has been locked in. I actually describe it to other writers as “locked in syndrome.”
I have been unable to write freely.
The things that terrify me in this story are similar to the things that terrify me in my life, and the fears I have for these characters mirror the fears I have for myself. That means, I need to figure out how to go there in the story without being swallowed up with sadness, fear, and grief. And without retreating under the blanket.
It’s forced me to think more deeply about painful things—personally and professionally—and I’ve realized I may never again be able to take for granted the ease of writing I’ve always felt. I’ve had to face tough truths. Truths that I couldn’t hide under a blanket to avoid. Perhaps that’s helped me develop a tougher skin or perhaps seeing the dark and scary places but coming through on the other end makes me appreciate the light more. It’s also allowed me to look the darkness in the eye.
But it’s one thing to be forced to confront and move through the dark corners of my own life. After all, what choice do I have? It’s quite another to seek out the dark corners. And then write about them. That takes a different kind of toughness. And if I can’t even stand to watch dark and scary movies and TV shows (I mean, low-angst Hallmarks are more my style), how will I examine the same kinds of things and write about them in intimate detail?
While I was at the UnCon, I talked to my good friend Dede Nesbitt about my new story idea. She already knows well my avoidance of darkness. When I met her at the 2016 UnCon, I was working on a different novel, one I ended up scrapping for other reasons, but she helped me see where the novel didn’t go far enough when my young character was trapped at the Chicago bus station in the middle of the night. I wasn’t taking the scene far enough, deep enough, real enough, and I knew it.
This time, I needed help again, and Dede said, “You need dark emotional free falling? I’m your woman.”
We talked about it for a long time—and we’ve talked and texted since.
Free Falling into the Dark
Dede has given me a list of movies, another of books. I haven’t started yet, but I plan to take a deep breath, move the blanket to the other side of the room, and dive in. Dede has also encouraged me to look at situations and people in different ways . . . instead of seeing what’s on the surface, look deeper, and around the edges.
As a sort of training and desensitizing, she’s talked about how each of us see things in different ways. “You look out the window at a lake across the street. You see the beautiful lake? I see the old rusted car that’s parked by the shore. Why has it been parked there for two days? What’s the story there?”
To help me see things and people in ways I might not usually see them, in places I might not usually go—like a bus station in the middle of the night—Dede has told me to go there. Physically go there. To the 24-hour convenience store. To the bus station. To the frozen foods section after midnight. Look. Observe. Drink it in. Take notes. Feel the feelings. About the people. The places. All of it. Things and feelings unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
I welcome all of Dede’s suggestions, and I will do them. Because this story is the first one that has captured my imagination in a long, long time. It’s lived in the corner of my mind for four years, keeps demanding my attention. But it also demands authenticity. It demands the dark side, and as I’ve examined this story and traveled the path I’ve journeyed in my own life, I’ve found a truth within myself: inside of each one of us there is goodness but there is also darkness. I’ve stared it in the face.
Life is complex. It’s more than low-angst romance and happiness, sunshine and roses, and happily ever-afters. Life is also heartache and lying and mistrust and stealing and betrayal. It is sadness and grief. And to embrace the darkness is also to embrace the light and hope and love. Life is not comprised of only happy endings, and sometimes an examination of the dark side helps us as writers reaffirm what it means to be human—for us and our readers.
To tell the story, I will need to go outside the blanket and my comfort zone, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be afraid. It means I trust that after I go there to write the story, the light side (and the blanket) will still be there waiting when I come back out.
Now it’s your turn . . . what makes you head under the blanket? And what are you doing to face your deepest, darkest fears?
[coffee]
Julia Munroe Martin (@jmunroemartin) is a writer and blogger who lives in an old house in southern coastal Maine. Julia’s other passion is photography, and if she’s not writing at the dining room table or a local coffeeshop, you’ll likely find her on the beach or dock taking photos. Julia writes The Empty Nest Can Be Murder mystery series as J. M. Maison.
Bravo, Julia! I’m rooting for you. I think we all have to face our fears if we want to write our best possible stories. You’re an inspiration!
Thank you, Vaughn! So very kind! Happy Thanksgiving (and happy writing)!
Julia – now I’m even more excited about this story! The “dark side” can be a scary place, but going out of your comfort zone can often bring about the most inspired work. Loved this post and, of course, rooting for you during this process!
Thanks, Amanda!! Here’s to inspiration outside my usual comfort zone. I’m so glad you loved the post and I count myself very lucky to have you rooting for me! (And thanks again for your encouragement — you helped me breathe life into this story!)
A million times YES! I love this post, Julia! Love that you’ve found your drive again and your willingness to push the pedal, that you’re embracing this unknowable trip. (I also love Dede!) And what you said here:
That’s it, exactly. There’s insecurity out in the dark, which is why it has such a bad rap, but there’s also the promise of so many, many good and even great things. Just yesterday, I found a piece of paper beside my desk upon which I’d scribbled, “The darkest of corners hold mystery–and possibility.” I tucked it away, thought maybe I meant that for my wip (or my class on Territory), but it fits here so well, too.
You’ve got this, Julia. Go forth, and drive with hunger and curiosity into the dark corners, and unravel those mysteries for your characters–and through them, perhaps for yourself, too.
I cannot wait to read this book.
Thank you so much, Therese! It truly is that sliver of light and hope that keeps us coming back — I am discovering that — and I love, love your words on the scribbled piece of paper. As you may remember from UnCon, a quote of yours was on my name badge (“Protect that flame even when it dims.”)… you are a continued and constant beacon of support so I appreciate your kind words all the more as we head into the dark corners together. Happy Thanksgiving–my love to you all! (And I can’t wait for you to read this book either :)
<3 One I’ve been telling myself lately: The only one who can douse your flame is you. (And of course we will not do that to ourselves, right?)
Happy Thanksgiving, my friend.
That’s another good quote (maybe I’ll save it for the next UnCon’s name badge!) And no way will we do that to ourselves!! Happy Thanksgiving!!
Hi Julia, your post is brave and true and I’m applauding it. The novel I’ve been working on, it seems like forever, has some very dark corners. When I pitched it at a writers’ conference, one agent looked at me and said, “I would never cover that subject.” Then she paused and amended it a bit, but no–it’s the story, it’s what I want to say and cannot be changed. Your post supports my decisions and so do all these responses. It’s our work. I wish you the best with it.
Thank you for your kind words, Beth. That’s wild that the agent feedback was they couldn’t cover the topic — sounds intriguing!! I’m glad my post supports your decisions, and I wish you the best with your work, too. Here’s to dark corners!
I’m so happy to hear that you’ve taken this on and have found your passion again. I can’t wait to hear more about it! Also, if you lived in the midwest, I would tell you to visit a Wal-Mart at any given point in the day. Scariest place in the ‘burbs. ;)
Thank you, Hal!! Can’t wait to tell you about it! And listen, if I lived in the midwest, I would visit any Wal-Mart at any time of day with you! And there isn’t even a 24 hour ANY store in the state of Maine that I know of. I may NEED to visit you to carry out Dede’s homework ;) SO worth it!
I salute you, Julia. Digging into dark material is never easy, but I think that’s where the juiciest, most memorable stories go. The writers who march me right up to the edge of the abyss and dangle me over its edge are the ones whose stories I remember most.
Like you, I have spent a lot of my writing time avoiding material that makes me uncomfortable. And, like you, I realized at the UnCon that I’ll need to plumb those depths if I want to grow and become a stronger writer.
Good luck with your efforts. And please reach out if you need another writer-buddy who is skirting the edge of the forest with caution. We can link arms and share a light source as we pick our way down the path before us.
This is so true!
“The writers who march me right up to the edge of the abyss and dangle me over its edge are the ones whose stories I remember most.”
It’s good to know you got a similar realization at the UnCon! I remember the exact moment it hit me — in Don’s workshop at the House of Seven Gables. Something about what he said made me realize I was avoiding things that made me uncomfortable (I’d always known this but not to the extent I realized at that moment). I will definitely reach out if I need company along the edge of the forest. I’m always happy for the company of another writer. Thanks for your comment, Ruth!
I’m cheering for you, Julia! Thrilled for your courage and willingness to follow the story that’s been haunting you. Our biggest challenges expand our hearts and bring unexpected peace. Enjoy the ride.
Jocosa, It’s so so nice to see you here — thank you for your kind comment — it was wonderful to meet you at the UnCon and now put a face with your name! Thank you especially for this… “Our biggest challenges expand our hearts and bring unexpected peace. Enjoy the ride.” YES! I want to enjoy the ride again. Exactly what I’m looking for! Unexpected peace and joy. Thank you, friend, and happy Thanksgiving!
Julia, I love this post because I’m a hide-under-the-blanket sort of person too. I write a lot of safe things because it’s hard to explore the darkness. Yet, I’m learning that bringing light to the darkness dispels the fear. Fear–I can’t tell you how many times I have to learn this lesson that decisions made from a place fear are always wrong. Fear is the stealer of dreams, of vocations, of joy. I’m learning, albeit slowly, to embrace the fear and darkness too.
A very blessed and happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!
HELLO!!! *waving* So happy to meet another hide under the blanket person!! I love how you describe bringing light to the darkness dispels the fear. And how I agree with you about lessons made from fear. I’ve definitely erred in that way too many times. Here we go, stepping into the darkness together, embracing the fear, and walking toward the light! Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours, too!!
Whoa. Wait…what? I’ve heard–and given–the advice to “go” to the place you fear. Fear is your compass. It points you to what you most need to work on in your fiction.
But…to *actually, physically go* to scary places? Feel what that feels like? Discover not just the dark place, but the dark feelings that lurk inside while there? That is radical.
It also makes me realize that the place I’m in now–right now, as I type–is the opposite: a safe place. Thing is, I’m not here to feel safe: I’m here so that I don’t feel afraid.
What does that, in turn, feel like? What am I avoiding? What am I afraid of experiencing if I leave this place? Fact is, no place is safe. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, everyplace is a place of fear.
I have a character who for a time is avoiding, and right now I’m writing a scene in which he’s being brought up against that truth. It’s been hard to write because inaction is not dramatic. I’ve been groping to find what impels him to action.
However…what if he needs is not a kick in the pants but a jolt of what he’s afraid of? Boy, that helps. I think I know how to write this scene. Thanks, Julia.
I’m so so glad you’ve gotten some insight to write the scene you’ve been grappling with!! That’s awesome! I agree there are many ways to visit the fearful places, and as you say, “No place is safe. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, everyplace is a place of fear.” I’m a lifelong member of the worrywart club and so even when I’m in a place or time that should be totally safe, I know exactly what you mean. Here’s to facing the dangerous dark places in writing and in life–even if they look and feel perfectly safe, we both know they are lying in wait. Thank you for your comment!
Bravo, Julia, and ditto to all the previous comments. Your words speak to the heart of the issue for all of us as writers . . . it is in our journey to, and through, the dark places that we discover [as do our readers] the light, hope and love that give so much meaning to our shared human experience. Thank you for being so open and vulnerable . . . you are gift to each of us.
Hi Micky!! So nice to hear from you — and for your very kind words. I love your words… “it is in our journey to, and through, the dark places that we discover [as do our readers] the light, hope and love that give so much meaning to our shared human experience.” Just beautiful! Happy Thanksgiving, friend! <3
I’m in the same place you are, Julia, with my WIP. Thanks for your courage and honesty and inspiration.
Mary
Thank you for reading — so glad you found it inspiring, Mary. I’m glad we’re heading into the darkness together!
I think one reason we avoid the dark and scary places is because we may recognize too much of ourselves there. Once I was helping a local charity sort clothes that had been donated for people who had lost their homes after a natural disaster. Another volunteer asked if I needed help finding anything. She thought I was one of the “needy” people. Then it was a matter of dress (I’ve never been accused of being a clothes horse) but the experience was an eye-opener: How different are we, really, from those dark and scary people? How far are we from their situations? In their circumstances, what would we do?
Yes, you really nailed this on the head. I had a very similar experience a few years back, Christine — I’d worked as a volunteer for a food pantry and then when we fell onto less fortunate times, we were offered assistance. It was humbling and very emotional being in that position but also incredibly overwhelming to feel the outside reassurance that everything would be all right, albeit for the very short time we needed help. I think you are right on–how far are we really–but also that writing is exactly what helps us as readers to realize how alike we are as a part of the human experience. And as writers, having these darker times can really help us to tell the story in a meaningful way.
LOVE the advice to physically go to the places your characters will go to that feel dark and scary to you. If you’re not in your story city, you can seek out comparable places, then sit in the bus terminal or the parking lot outside the rehab center and put yourself in your character’s situation to pick up on the feelings. My published novels so far have been cozy mysteries, and now that I’m working on something else, I’m learning to look on the darker side. Seeing the rusty car instead of the sparkling lake, as Dede told you — what a great image and reminder!
I agree, Dede gives excellent advice! I live in a very small town (8500) but near a bigger city–and I will definitely be visiting less frequented places that put me in touch with feelings and people I wouldn’t necessarily meet or experience. I can totally see how a cozy mystery would differ from other books–and how it might require learning to look on the darker side. Here’s to seeing in the dark!
Julia, Dede has fascinating suggestions (though if you’ve smoked too much pot at midnight, you don’t want frozen foods—you want the Doritos and Red Bull sections) on putting yourself in unfamiliar places. It’s one of the reasons I’ve house-sat overseas in other countries, where odd and uncomfortable—and often good—things have happened. Some themes (suicide, alcoholism) have also crept into my work for various darkness-tiptoeing reasons.
I hope venturing a little further into the squeamish or spooky zones makes your writing all the richer, and that you always have a favorite pair of warm socks to return to.
That’s good to know about the Red Bull and Doritos, Tom…. but more seriously, you make such a good point about living in other countries–I spent a good part of my childhood outside the US as the daughter of anthropologists–it’s definitely influenced my writing in so many ways. As well as the prevalence of addiction in my family. I think I’ve perhaps happily spent a lot of time in warm socks and it’s now time to move into places I feel less comfortable once again. Here’s hoping it gives me the boost I need!
I’m so glad you’ve found a story that inspires you. As others have said, you’re brave and you’ve got this. Wishing you all the best on this exciting journey!
Thank you, Nancy! Hope your writing journey is going well — we definitely need to catch up soon. Happy Thanksgiving!
You might have heard the truism that some of the nicest people write horror? Seems to me you’ve got that qualification down pat. ;-)
I hear you, Julia. I’m writing a book which is comparatively angsty for me and I’m needing to pace myself. But it is doable as long as I allow myself a reprieve. I have every confidence you’ll figure out how to balance your emotions.
I’ve never heard that! But I do know two horror writers who are two of the nicest people I know! Thank you for your kind words — and I love your idea of allowing yourself a reprieve whilst pacing yourself. I may well adopt that along with other ways to balance my emotions. Thank you, Jan!
That sounds like a story to get excited about! Irony is that I’m about to finish the first draft of my NaNo book and I was sitting here thinking the same thing. I have the story laid out but I feel I’m in the shallows with all the characters—though the protagonist is more developed. Thank goodness or I’d really be disheartened. I’m bookmarking this post to read again. Best of luck to you! Sounds like you’ve made a break through. And time to start my search. Xo
First of all: YAY!!!! So happy you’re about to finish your draft!! That’s so awesome, Jamie! “The shallows” is exactly how I’d describe some of my character development, perfect description for when I am able to get it on the page. That’s why you’re golden. (1) Your protagonist is more developed, (2) you have the story in draft and you can edit to where you want it! Here’s to facing our deepest darkest fears and writing the stories we have in our hearts and in our minds. (And thank you for your kind words!) xox