Krista Puttler
FOUR EMOTIONAL CORNERS
I often start a piece of writing with an immediate emotional response to something I have read, something I have overheard, or most recently (as in my piece Origin Story in Cleaver Magazine issue 48), in trying to answer a simple question: Where do stories come from?
- Anger: I am usually here with my back against a wall, literally, cornered. Words spill from my heaving mind through my arm to the page. It feels so good to write them. I know I eventually need to leave this corner, for my sanity, so that I can reconnect with people I love, but it is very hard sometimes because it is so easy to write from here.
- Jealousy: I am here because of something I did not write but think I should have. I sit on the ground, wear my It’s-Not-Fair mantra like a shawl, and wallow. When I am finally sick of that, I open my laptop and stare at the blinking cursor. And I realize, it is the perfect slashing mark to turn my bitter thoughts into better words.
- Unworthiness: I should not be allowed in this corner. Heck, not even allowed in the room! This corner is for the “true” writers. I have nothing original to say, so why bother? I don’t write a single word in this corner; my brain keeps my heart hostage. But when I feel someone sit down next to me, and we talk about our writing, this dark place lightens, and I am overjoyed I am not alone.
- Regret: I knew I should have written down that flowing, lovely description before I got into this corner. And that piece of dialogue I heard in the dentist’s waiting room? Good luck remembering it now. Why didn’t I just take the two minutes to open my notebook, the one I always have with me just for this purpose? Why did I think I was too busy? And now, I’m stuck looking at the seam between two walls, imaging anyplace but here. Then I open my notebook.
I know all four corners. I know the dimensions of the room. I know there is a window between anger and jealousy. I know there is a door between unworthiness and regret. I use these corners to start writing, but to continue, I know I must leave this room. And if I can open the door, so can you.
Krista Puttler has been fortunate to call many places home including Norfolk, Virginia, the Philippines, Guam, Hawaii, Japan, and a stateroom on an aircraft carrier. Her nonfiction has appeared in As You Were: The Military Review, Collateral, Cagibi, and The Wrath-Bearing Tree. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in Intima, Door is a Jar, and HeartWood Literary Magazine. A medium-roast coffee gal at heart, she is pleasantly surprised by how much she loves Italian espresso. She lives outside Naples, Italy with her husband and three daughters.
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