(This is the official site of author Tarah L. Wolff - click here to see my books)

Checking up on Bridget

I asked her, "Where is your heart?" and she pointed to a corner of her kitchen and said, "It's there - I figure another week might be enough." And it was there, in a splatter of bright red blood on the black and white linoleum. It was nearly ripped in two and every time it beat the two folds fluttered like a coughing sea creature on dry land. >> keep reading


This is all about You

You learned long ago that any choice you made would not be touched by another person's hand in your life; regrets then only fall on your own self, and that is good, for there is never, and never will be, anyone else to blame. Be alone in this as it is the simplest truth and the hardest truth. No one else is to blame. Do not let them sway your >> keep reading


Embraced by Darkness

So, I have finally finished and released my first book. Life is good accordingly . . . Wow, I have never spent so many hours on something in my entire life to be rewarded with so little. No, I'm not complaining, but I will warn all self published writers from here on out that just the process of trying to get out press releases >> keep reading

Learning to Write Again

This Is All About Me

My birthday is officially around the corner and I’m going to be twenty-seven. I feel like I’ve walked a long way to get here and am I where I thought I would be at this age? Odd thought. Maybe not odd for some people but fricking just weird for me. I’ve measured my life, the reasons I have for getting up in the morning, toward getting by, by struggles and hurdles. Big ones. Hurdles so large that they consumed my life and I knew during the struggle that I would have no life until I surpassed them. This is truly the start of my life without hurdles, after Oklahoma (and god knows everything else) I think I have finally come round and am seeing things again. No past, no future: just present. No hurdles to over come. If someone had asked me five or ten years ago what I thought I would be doing right now (and I answered them realistically, not what I WANTED to be doing, or DREAMED I’d be doing, but what I thought I would ACTUALLY be doing) I would have said that I hadn’t thought about it, I needed to get over this or that hurdle first. I believe that my grasp on life, the way I handle things, I got from my mom: Tackle that hurdle, get that done, finish up that project, get that guy out of your life, get your finances on track, put your head down like a work horse (don’t look up there’s no point) and then when we’ve worked hard enough and got it done we can breathe!

Problem is, I don’t know if I know how to breathe, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever just BEEN ALIVE, with nothing to fight against, nothing that truly needs changing (at least not around me, god knows I could always use improvement… and I need to write more). In fact, right now, I have absolutely nothing to truly complain about. There is grief, and sadness, like in all our lives. But I picked someone up along the way whose making everything better for me, or maybe I should say: he picked me up. It’s amazing when you get treated right for the first time how poorly you realize people (men for me…) have treated you in the past. All of them. But I guess that can be argued, I was treated like shit in my own eyes but I guess it could have been another woman’s paradise. Maybe I should just put it like this, “For the first time I’m actually being given not only what I want but what I’ve always needed from a man.” I’ve never been treated so well in my life as a woman. Funny how one person can prove all the others so wrong. And funny how I still couldn’t sit down and write out a list of: This is how I want to be treated. I just knew that none of the men of my past were capable of giving me what I needed to stay with them. Not their fault maybe but God knows some of them acted like real assholes and tried, in the end, to do everything they could to destroy me.

But I guess that is how life is. Every man I’ve been with proved how poorly the last one treated me. And my whole life I’ve simply been working toward, “Well that I don’t want in my life! I don’t know what I want but that certainly isn’t it!” Eventually I guess I figure I’ll have this shit narrowed down. But I can’t imagine better then right now. This moment. Is this what it’s like to JUST BREATHE? If so, I want to keep doing it. Maybe its my own emotional being right now. Maybe this is just me finally able to live without the angers of past wrongs, finally able to stop abusing myself and the men I’m with for the acts of the assholes before them. Though it sure does feel odd. My best friend commented at how easily I walk away, throw things away, never speak to someone again etc. etc. It may look like that, but its just me working toward actually being able to let go. Its my system because I’ve lived the past entirely in the present before and learned that no memory is so good to let that happen to you. Everyone deserves better then that. When the past calls – for the love of god and all things that are holy – let that fucker go to voice mail, risk everything if you must but let that fucker go to voice mail or (if possible) block em entirely. We all deserve a present to focus entirely on, without distractions, and a future to look forward to.

So what does all that translate into when it comes to my writing life? Not good. No, not good at all. Though I hear it’s pretty common for writers in a happy place to find their motivation for writing to go slack. So, hear is the big thought of the day, what I’ve been writing down to in this blog post. ARE WE WRITERS OUT OF LONELINESS? Would I even be a writer if I hadn’t been home schooled and needed “friends/characters” and an “escape”. My early writing was all my own fantasies, I wrote how I wanted the world to be, I wrote my dreams of what I wanted to do and face and feel. Every single one of my characters was just an aspect of my own self. As writers, with desires fulfilled and with no desire for escape, where do we then find the motivation to write?

How do writers make the transition from writing to fulfill their fantasies of life to writing for the sake, for the act, of writing?

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Embraced by Darkness


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