A frequent criticism I receive of my stories from the various crit groups to which I belong is that my writing is emotionally distant.
I don’t know for sure why this is, but I have my suspicions. It could be my innate Kiwi stoicism. It could be that I’m too enamoured with the idea of juxtaposing shocking events with indifferent emotional responses from my characters, and I need to move on. It could be that I don’t know how to write emotion without it sounding trite.
Or it could be that I’m afraid to confront painful emotion.
Like in this story. I struggled to write it, I struggle to read it, and to hear it read aloud by a male narrator… it hurt. And I cried.
In my defense, my capacity to cope with…well, just about anything, really… has been all but obliterated by my only getting two hours sleep last night. Any minute now, I’m going to start hallucinating.
Anyway, take a listen. See what you think. Am I a wuss? You decide.