A Scripta

A girl in my department came around with ribbons bearing the Virginia Tech colors and asked if I wanted one. "No, thanks."

"How come?"

I just shrugged and turned away. My real answer: Because I can see myself as being the shooter.

Stephen King writes that if anyone looked at his writing when he was in college he'd get tagged as mentally ill and be hauled off to Bellvue (or, in my area, Butler). How do you tell which one's "gonna blow"? According to him, "Violence unenlivened by any real talent."

I wrote a story for creative writing once where the main character took the usual Faustian bargain, and had a demon invade her body and use it as a conduit. I don't remember the end, but I do remember only one scene: As she walked across a field, her feet caused small fires in the grass. I remember the teacher pulling that scene out and saying it stuck in her mind as a symbol even after the story was done. In my case, violence enlivened by talent?

The writing, all of this stuff you're reading, is what's kept me from going postal all these years. King also says that writing is "excretory" for us creative types. Nice choice of words, that, because all of this violence and anger is just that - dark, deep, primal crap that everyone has and is afraid to handle. It takes a person either brave or foolhardy enough to deal with it and present it to you for your edification. I aspire to be the former. I'm closer to the latter, as I dance very, very close to that edge.

Mase helps.