The Trouble with Passion

I pour passion into all my works, and I always have such high hopes for them.

Sometimes, the intent of the creation is to make someone happy. Sometimes, it’s meant to transport someone to another world. Sometimes, it’s meant to be an engaging and relaxing experience. And often, I completely miss my goal.

One of my more recent works was a great success and did exactly what I had intended. It was light, cheerful, fun, and never got too dark. It brought smiles to people’s faces, and was a story age-appropriate enough that I could show my kids.

Another was a good success, though I admit it was a bit too dark. And even when I thought I had it perfect, beta readers are still finding things to niggle and complain about. This is a good reminder that perfectionism can never bring true perfection.

The third work was far too dark, and I had a hard time gauging how dark it truly was until someone had finally experienced it. I had such high hopes, my life felt like it was on pause in anticipation for this moment. It started out well, but it crashed and burned in true Hindenburg fashion. I was left feeling like … I don’t have a properly tuned compass.

The results blindsided me and left a blackness dripping upon my heart.

I’ve run into this problem in the past as well. I seem to have improved somewhat over the years, but when I write something this emotionally-driven, I want it to be as immersive as possible. In this case, the darkness was there to lend itself to the nature of the original story it was based on. It was also there for the sake of deep immersion, and to feed the mysteries it was going to present at the end, mysteries the reader was meant to solve.

But perhaps I made this story a mystery to try and coax the reader through to the end, because maybe, deep down, I had a feeling what I’d written would be tough to get through. This aim is nefarious. I should have paid closer attention to that feeling and reviewed what I’d written with a clearer mind.

Stories can become so dark, they can actually do damage to the person reading it. Creativity is a powerful force. And unchecked, it can debase instead of enrich. It can become libertine in nature. I realize now that the forces of one’s creative imagination should not run completely unbridled, or it can take on a life all its own and become a destructive force of nature, despite the original hopes of the creator.

I think I need to keep in mind the virtue of temperance while writing. Temperance, love, and prayer are the only ways I know that can pull back on the reins and improve my accuracy of judgment.