The Blind Tragedian

music-images-19I find writing tragedy remarkably easy.

What that says about me, my psyche and the bent of my imagination, I choose to ignore. (My psychiatrist has enough on his hands already.)

Yesterday, a day of minimal writing time thanks to an air conditioner in its death throes, I began chipping away at the tragedy-ridden subplot at the heart of the Six Brothers.

Like I said, it was easy.

Rather ghoulish of me, I fear.

If writing was a waltz, the tearjerker and I would be flawless dance partners.

All the little details that wring heartbreaking sorrow from a reader fly off my fingertips with troublesome ease.

I could write one heck of a “Love Story”-esque novel… If I really wanted to… which I don’t.

I abhor reading tearjerkers. My emotions are tattered enough with my every day, screwed up life that I really don’t need to send the old heart-strings through a paper shredder just for jollies.

Oh well. I guess I don’t really have to read what I write.

The blind tragedian, that’s me.

Hurrah.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

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