Write Angry

Something happened yesterday that royally pissed me off. During an away game one of our soccer players fell to the ground injured. Immediately the parents for the opposing team launched an aggressive attack against the ref and his “poor” call after giving us a free kick. Their screaming escalated and was, in my opinion, beyond classless. Our player lie writhing in pain only feet from these parents and they had the audacity to spew about what they believed was an unfair call. Let me shed a little more light on the situation. The ref had made a few questionable calls during the game so far—this was not one of them. Also, the injury didn’t occur during a breakaway. And our player has to get an X-ray for what could be broken fingers.

I seriously kept thinking is this how it’s going to be—the world my kids are going to live in? I think this a lot and it tends to freak me out. I have to mollify myself with the whole be the change self-talk. I maintained self-control and I’m proud of that because every muscle in my body was ordering me to go off on those parents. Instead I took a little walk and breathed.

You could say I was just a tad angry. Rightfully so.

There are plenty of times in life we should be angry. It’s the most appropriate response to injustices we see around us. Someone once told me the things that trigger the most anger in us are signposts, informing us of the issues where we’re most impassioned and positioned to respond—to inflict change.

Here’s where the writing part comes in. I understand the argument for writing sound, for dealing with your emotions before you tap out the first word so your work will be coherent and well-punctuated.

Hogwash.

I say write hot. Three reasons why I stand by this . . .

Passion

When you write angry your passion will be evident in your words—it will seep into every sentence. People will feel that passion and latch onto it. It’ll create emotion in others. Your anger will present people with a choice. Your work will hold up a sign that says I care about this. Will you?

The Geyser Inside

Sometimes you don’t know how strongly you feel about a subject until you begin exploring your feelings on the page. Writing is an optimal way to unleash these untapped emotions. It’s incredible what your impassioned indignation may look like when it’s finally free to spread out and find a home on the page. No matter what it looks like, I guarantee it will demand attention. It also has the potential to introduce you to an assortment of other things you had no idea you were feeling. Hello, geyser inside.

Connection

I didn’t know the parents from my team were bothered by the embarrassing actions of the parents from the other team until I took my little calming walk. It’s then that I heard the comments. Guess what? They were fuming mad too. It’s exactly for this reason that writing hot is important. When you write angry you have the potential to create powerful empathy. You motivate others to care and move to action. You connect with readers.

*All this to say I’ve noticed people seem to get angry at the slightest things anymore. Then they spew like crazy with little self-control. Let’s get angry when anger is merited. Then, let’s follow Toni Morrison’s example. “I get angry about things, then go on and work.”

Closer to Home

I remember the first time I saw my mom crying. She was bawling, actually. I was in fifth grade. I

took my time walking down our long lane and wondered if my mom had heard the news. When I met my mom in the kitchen, I instantly registered her red-rimmed eyes. She clutched me to her chest and held me in a tight hug. And then she sobbed. The Space Shuttle Challenger had exploded. Word had traveled fast for the mid-80s. In school we’d begun to cheer on the first teacher launching into space, then quickly shifted to figuring out how to mourn the loss and the loss of the crew in such an abrupt transition of time.

A great tragedy.

Growing up, a few other news stories brought my mom to tears. But that’s the event that stands out to me. Because it seemed so far away. Like something that could never happen to me or my loved ones.

I find myself reflecting on the first time I witnessed my mom’s intense reaction to this news story because I’m a mom now. And too many incidents have caused me to cry since I’ve become a mother. Too many tears.

I bring this up in the aftermath of Christina Grimmie’s death this weekend, then yesterday, only a day later, a mass shooting at an Orlando nightclub. Both significant losses occurred in the same city. My girls and I were rooting for Christina when she sang on The Voice. She mesmerized me when she sang “All of the Stars” with Ed Sheeran. She had so much more life to live—so many more songs to sing.

I feel a sweeping darkness.

One could argue it’s because we’re more informed now, news being shoved in our face every second. I believe it’s more than that. And that conversations need to continue. Not opinion-heavy lambasts. Dialogue with active listening, self-control, a will to want to change this current state we’re in. Because I can hear the loud voices in my head already. Gun control. Mental illness. Terrorists. Politics. Let’s be honest, I’m not only hearing it in my head, it’s all over social media. People have opinions and they feel entitled to share. Okay, all well and good (or not) but I’m calling for productive conversation that carries the potential to lead to change. Not just venting because we’re all feelings this—this foreboding lack of control.

How do we prevail against darkness? By exuding light. And we can only do that if we remain civilized, respectful, open-minded and introspective.

My kids are growing up with these news stories. They aren’t as unusual or as devastating as they once were. We cannot become numb to this—cannot accept a world where it’s alright to destroy one another.

Columbine. 9/11. Sandy Hook. It’s gotten much closer to home. Tragedy no longer feels far away or like something that could never happen to me or my loved ones.

Something’s got to give.