Dear You: Mom

Here's another great Dear You Letter!  I've got a few to post so I will also post one on Wednesday so make sure to comment and follow comments!  A lot of you have shared with me how it has been kind of nice to write what you have down... kind of freeing.  I'm so glad... I hope those of you that are wondering if you want to send a letter, that you do!

Dear You--Mom:

You stumbled over my blog by accident. I wasn't thrilled about it, particularly when you started trying to talk to me about my posts.  And I really wasn't happy when you started giving out the link to other people.  But I decided that wasn't going to stop me from writing what I want, how I want, when I want. 

But mom, now you've crossed the line.

You've been reading me for awhile, so you know I don't post about myself all that frequently. I write stories. Vampires. Crime. Whatever else pops into my head.  They are works of fiction.  Products of my overactive imagination.

Some of the tales are better than others.  Sometimes the stories write themselves, others I take months to polish until I get them right.

I've written stories that made you cry. That made you laugh out loud. That got you all hot and bothered. And that's the mark of a good writer - that I can make you feel...anything.

Just because I write about a vampire does not make me one. I write about murder - I certainly have never committed the crime. And just because I may, on occasion, write about the other woman doesn't mean that I have experience being the other woman.

I have a good imagination. I read. A lot. I research plot points. Just as any good writer would.

Sure, I can write emotions. Do you think at 32 years old I haven't had my heart broken? That I haven't been sad? Hurt? Scared? Scarred? Wondered "what if"?   Show me a person that hasn't felt all those things and I'll show you someone who knows nothing but denial.

I draw on those feelings to convey my stories.  Just as any good writer would.  So don't read things into my words which aren't there. 

Now... If my stories bother you, you have a choice. You can accept my pieces as the works of fiction that they are or you can stop reading.

The choice is yours. I love you. But your accusations were way out of line. And we will not be having this discussion again...

Jaime