Themes and Writing

monsters

I believe every writer has a certain theme (s) that consistently shows up in his/her writing.  One of mine involves being hunted/terrorized by creatures.  When I was younger, I used to be a runner as well as a biker (no, not the Harley Davidson, but as an athletic racer), and for some reason, I became a popular target for dogs.  I’ve been chased down (and even bitten) more times than I can count.  So, in my dreams, I’d have these nightmares that would plague me where I would be hunted by these horrific monsters that resembled dogs, and just when they attack I’d wake up, many times covered in sweat.

But, my earliest memory of ever having a creature come for me occurred when I was around six years old.  I’ve captured this experience in a poem (which was also published with Piker Press) called Shadows:

As a young girl, I once had an experience
       that I believed was not a dream
As dawn broke, I looked down the hallway
       from my bedroom;
And saw a pair of shadows moving along
       the wall
It was of a man sitting in a wheel chair
       who was being pushed by a tall man with an afro
They were only shadowy figures,
       nothing more
Or, were they?
As these shadows slowly crept down the wall,
       no human forms would emerge
Being quite frightened, I flung the bedcovers over my head,
       and waited
Much to my horror, there were pairs of hands, pawing at me,
       as if they were trying to get past the covers
I was too terrified to call out to my parents,
       as I laid as still as I could
Next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and found myself
       still beneath the sheets
Slowly, I peered out from underneath, and was met
       by the full, morning sunlight
The prying hands and dark shadows were gone,
       thank goodness!
To this very day, some thirty years later, I can still remember those frightening
       moments, as if they had just occurred
Was it a dream? Or, was I visited by some
       supernatural beings?
This, I may never truly know.

Article © Carrie A. Golden. All rights reserved.
Published on 2009-04-13

 

What about you?  What sort of theme (s) consistently shows up in your writing?

 

As a young girl, I once had an experience
that I believed was not a dream
As dawn broke, I looked down the hallway
from my bedroom;
And saw a pair of shadows moving along
the wall
It was of a man sitting in a wheel chair
who was being pushed by a tall man with an afro
They were only shadowy figures,
nothing more
Or, were they?
As these shadows slowly crept down the wall,
no human forms would emerge
Being quite frightened, I flung the bedcovers over my head,
and waited
Much to my horror, there were pairs of hands, pawing at me,
as if they were trying to get past the covers
I was too terrified to call out to my parents,
as I laid as still as I could
Next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and found myself
still beneath the sheets
Slowly, I peered out from underneath, and was met
by the full, morning sunlight
The prying hands and dark shadows were gone,
thank goodness!
To this very day, some thirty years later, I can still remember those frightening
moments, as if they had just occurred
Was it a dream? Or, was I visited by some
supernatural beings?
This, I may never truly know.

Article © Carrie A. Golden. All rights reserved.
Published on 2009-04-13

– See more at: http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=3494#sthash.ylqRLjoJ.dpuf

 

As a young girl, I once had an experience
that I believed was not a dream
As dawn broke, I looked down the hallway
from my bedroom;
And saw a pair of shadows moving along
the wall
It was of a man sitting in a wheel chair
who was being pushed by a tall man with an afro
They were only shadowy figures,
nothing more
Or, were they?
As these shadows slowly crept down the wall,
no human forms would emerge
Being quite frightened, I flung the bedcovers over my head,
and waited
Much to my horror, there were pairs of hands, pawing at me,
as if they were trying to get past the covers
I was too terrified to call out to my parents,
as I laid as still as I could
Next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and found myself
still beneath the sheets
Slowly, I peered out from underneath, and was met
by the full, morning sunlight
The prying hands and dark shadows were gone,
thank goodness!
To this very day, some thirty years later, I can still remember those frightening
moments, as if they had just occurred
Was it a dream? Or, was I visited by some
supernatural beings?
This, I may never truly know.

Article © Carrie A. Golden. All rights reserved.
Published on 2009-04-13

– See more at: http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=3494#sthash.ylqRLjoJ.dpuf

As a young girl, I once had an experience
that I believed was not a dream
As dawn broke, I looked down the hallway
from my bedroom;
And saw a pair of shadows moving along
the wall
It was of a man sitting in a wheel chair
who was being pushed by a tall man with an afro
They were only shadowy figures,
nothing more
Or, were they?
As these shadows slowly crept down the wall,
no human forms would emerge
Being quite frightened, I flung the bedcovers over my head,
and waited
Much to my horror, there were pairs of hands, pawing at me,
as if they were trying to get past the covers
I was too terrified to call out to my parents,
as I laid as still as I could
Next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and found myself
still beneath the sheets
Slowly, I peered out from underneath, and was met
by the full, morning sunlight
The prying hands and dark shadows were gone,
thank goodness!
To this very day, some thirty years later, I can still remember those frightening
moments, as if they had just occurred
Was it a dream? Or, was I visited by some
supernatural beings?
This, I may never truly know.

Article © Carrie A. Golden. All rights reserved.
Published on 2009-04-13

– See more at: http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=3494#sthash.ylqRLjoJ.dpuf

As a young girl, I once had an experience
that I believed was not a dream
As dawn broke, I looked down the hallway
from my bedroom;
And saw a pair of shadows moving along
the wall
It was of a man sitting in a wheel chair
who was being pushed by a tall man with an afro
They were only shadowy figures,
nothing more
Or, were they?
As these shadows slowly crept down the wall,
no human forms would emerge
Being quite frightened, I flung the bedcovers over my head,
and waited
Much to my horror, there were pairs of hands, pawing at me,
as if they were trying to get past the covers
I was too terrified to call out to my parents,
as I laid as still as I could
Next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and found myself
still beneath the sheets
Slowly, I peered out from underneath, and was met
by the full, morning sunlight
The prying hands and dark shadows were gone,
thank goodness!
To this very day, some thirty years later, I can still remember those frightening
moments, as if they had just occurred
Was it a dream? Or, was I visited by some
supernatural beings?
This, I may never truly know.

Article © Carrie A. Golden. All rights reserved.
Published on 2009-04-13

– See more at: http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=3494#sthash.ylqRLjoJ.dpuf

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One thought on “Themes and Writing

  1. Disillusionment with the quality of reality. A feeling that what is available is fake, cheap, a rip-off. But a resignation to said reality out of an inability to alter it or discover what exactly is not truly authentic. A sense that everything and everyone is “never what it is”. This is compounded by characters and organizations that manipulate and lie in fairly transparent but unstoppable ways.

    This leads pretty logically into another theme of mine: feelings of being trapped, needing to find escape desperately. Escape, however, is often unattainable. As a result, characters take on a sort of failure lassitude that is often challenged by outward violence in its many forms. The lassitude is rarely broken, often hindered by outside circumstances or internal incongruencies.

    Leading lastly to a “secret outside” that those who push hard (generally after breaks in personality caused by the non-stop violence vistied on said characters) enough stumble into. As if reality were a bubble that popped. In this outside, there are often various cultures and various lifestyles and various ideologies working. Often, once this outside is found, there is a sense that perhpas having stumbled upon it was not the best option. A background sense of wanting to return to the comfort of ignorance and complacency.

    Like

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