Life is Not a Bowl of Cherries: Why I write what I write

I have been asked on more than one occasion, why I write the things that I do. I’ve been told by many people what exactly it is I should and shouldn’t write, whether it’s steering clear of any form of profanity…avoiding violence…writing happier endings…writing happier plots…writing things with the purpose of uplifting my reader…etc. I generally offer up a smile and accept their suggestions politely then walk away. Other times, I simply tell them that’s just not the way I write, again, I do so politely and walk away.


The truth is, there really is a purpose (or maybe explanation would be a better word) for what I write. These people are absolutely correct in observing that I do not often write “happy” stories, nor do I frequently wrap them up with perfect, happy endings. That does not mean what I write is all negative all the time. It surely is not. I try to capture life in its truest sense. Sometimes that is positive, sometimes it is negative. Just because my premise and even perhaps conclusion are not “happy and light” does not mean that there are not happy moments, successful relationships, and other positives buried within the pages. Almost always there are. Especially in my longer pieces.

Let me get back to answering the direct question, though. Why do I write the things I do? It is no secret that I am a Christian and do believe in perfect justice. I do believe that someday good will prevail over evil in the most ultimate sense. I wait in anticipation for that day. God has promised the eternal conquering of evil but he has not promised an ideal outcome to every situation--he has not promised that the bad guys will never "win".

I write what I do because life isn’t good all the time, nor is it made up of perfect and satisfying resolutions. Bad things happen to good people, good things happen to really bad people. Mistakes cannot always be erased and people are not always forgiven. Sometimes terrible things happen for no explicable reason. Sometimes, the monsters win. Sometimes, evil triumphs over good. It may not be ideal, we all have our visions of Utopia, but the truth is, we live in a fallen world. This IS reality.

The Writer

                The wind rustled Michael’s hair from the roof of his house. Funny, on the ground, he hadn’t been able to feel so much as a breeze. He didn’t mind. It was a warm, June breeze and he embraced it. Sitting on the shingles, enjoying the steady sunlight that caressed him ever so gently, Michael turned the final page of his novel, read the only remaining paragraph, then closed the book. He stared into the sky and admired the clouds. They seemed puffier than usual. He opened his laptop and stared blankly at the page that was before him. The empty stare lasted only a moment, then his fingers began to tap dance across the keyboard unceasingly. He bled three pages into the document, hit the enter key twice, and typed the words “The End”. He exhaled deeply, smiled, and closed the computer. With the laptop under his arm, and the novel in his hands, he climbed to the top of his roof, where its slope leveled out into a flat surface. He set both possessions down, against the chimney and turned away. He strolled back down to the roof’s edge and looked out (out, not down) at the trees and the endless sky. It truly was a beautiful day. Michael looked back over his shoulder, paranoid that the book and computer may have fallen. He smiled at their presence and focused on the wind. It was too light to present any danger to them; he knew they were safe. A strange and unfamiliar peace coursed through his veins. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze and the sun mixing against his flesh, and stepped over the ledge.