Learning how to love my own dark mind

Goodness gracious. I read my books, and I wonder if people will think I need my head examined. I am preparing the second book in my series for publication and have been conducting rewrites that somehow make it even more darkly realistic.

Why can't I write fluff? If I had enough imagination, I would probably write horror. The truth is, I want my readers to feel the pain of my characters—their poor choices, bad relationships, and mental anguish. I believe it is my mission to bring comfort to those who have suffered trauma, particularly sexual abuse and psychological warfare. I know I'm not the only writer doing this. But I want to join the ranks.

It is a tragedy that most of us suffer in silence. We may confide our deepest secrets to a close friend or family member, but all too often, we hold them in and let them consume our soul. Fiction has always been a form of therapy for me. I know that it can be for others as well. When you read the tragic story of Edmond Dantès in "The Count of Monte Cristo" and how he returns with a vengeance to reclaim what is his, it is so damn satisfying. And it makes your own redemption arc seem almost possible.

A Lover to Live For—book two is an emotional rollercoaster that crashes on the last page. And honestly, I love the ending. It makes me cry every single time. Because book three will be deliciously cathartic.

I hope I can find my readers. Those who aren't afraid of the dark stuff, who understand that to change the world, we must first acknowledge the world as it is—a place where bad people have reigned supreme since the beginning of time. In order to stop them, we must first see them, then call them out, and finally, let society shame them into the darkness.

I know we've all heard it before, but I love the quote attributed to Edmund Burke:

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

I want to do something, even if all it ends up being is writing another good book.