A dark side

I just spent my lunch hour editing/rewriting a really dark scene. It's one entire chapter of the book and it deals with some very dark themes. I won't go into a lot of detail, because that would spoil the suspense. Needless to say though, it's dark. Scary. Terrifying even.

I think the scene really works. It didn't for a while. When I re-read it last night, it just didn't fit. It was violent, but it was almost too violent. This is a romance/mystery/thriller book. There has to be violence in it somewhere and I can deal with that, but there's no reason to insert violence for violence's sake.

So today, I redid the scene. I took out some of the physical violence and added some psychological. It makes the scene better, more dramatic, more realistic, without adding any gore (in fact I took out the goriest of the details). At the same time, however, it really shook me inside. It took a lot out of me to write, and even more when I read it after I was done. I'm still shaky half an hour afterwards. I wonder how I can even write about this shit. What does that say about what's inside me? I'm basically a happy person. I've been lucky in my life to be blessed with good health, a wonderful family (also with good health), good friends, a good job, a house, etc. So how can I imagine a world or a scene with torture and write about it accurately? Well, some of it's TV, movies, books I've read. But doesn't some of it have to come from inside me? I think we all have a dark side. Most of us just either ignore it or at the very least, control it. I guess that's where this scene could come from. I'm happy (and yes, I know that sounds weird) that I could tap into that darkness and write this scene. I'm happier though, that I can put it back away now that I'm done.

Another worry - eventually, my family and friends are going to read this book. My mother and father will read it. What will they think? The herione comes from a horribly lonely childhood. I would hate for my parents to think there was something missing or wrong with my childhood that I'm projecting into the book. There wasn't. How will they react reading the scene I just finished? What about my friends? Will they be able to look at me the same way knowing I can write about something sadistic, violent, wretched? I can't really dwell on these worries too much. If I did, I wouldn't be able to finish the book. I have to finish the book. It's a compulsion. An obsession even. But not tonight. Tonight I'm done. I've exhausted my daily allotment of creativity and drained my emotions. I'll be back to my happy self by the time I leave work today. I have a relaxing evening to myself planned and I'll enjoy it. But I won't write. Won't even think about writing. I hope.