I’m a horrible fighter.
Most of the time, I avoid confrontation. But when it’s unavoidable, either because you won’t back down or because I’ve had my fill, things get ugly.
I don’t fight fair. I am a wordsmith by trade– I will destroy your arguments and shout circles around you. You cannot compete with my verbal prowess. Once the blood is pumping and the adrenaline is flowing, so are the insults, sarcasm, and abuse. I have stored away every slight, every stupid remark, every misstep you ever made, and I will nail you to the wall of shame with them, one nine inch nail at a time.
But that’s not who I want to be. I’ve worked really hard over the years to avoid confrontation. I want to be, and AM for the most part, known as a kind and compassionate person.
Over the past year, as things got hopelessly wicked in my relationship with Punk, I got louder. A lot of crap I’d been holding in for the past 13 years came rushing out. Vehemently.
It wasn’t pretty. Neither was I.
But here’s the upside. I’m finding that finding my voice when it comes to arguing has helped my heroine find her voice in my novel.
I would have made a lousy protagonist for a story. I WAS a lousy protagonist in my own story. Always quiet, never balking at any inconvenience, never standing up to any mistreatment, never speaking out with an opinion, never struggling to overcome obstacles. But after a year– okay, 15 months– of trying and failing and trying again to fight it out with Punk, I’ve learned a few tricks about how to live– and write– a better heroine.
She’s got to be more, for lack of a better term, ballsy than I am. When she thinks of the ultimate slam, she’s not going to bite her tongue. She’s going to deliver it with slamming of doors. She will wield words like knives, not just cutting, but twisting the blade in order to drive her point home.
She will not run away. She will have the last word, leaving everyone else speechless.
Flight? Not for this bird.