by Kasper Hoe

Created on: June 16, 2010

For many years and many times during my life there have been many disappointments; class mates who bullied me and teachers who didn't do anything to stop them. And a lot of other ways of getting disappointed.

Many tears have been cried. Many scars have been made on my soul, but…

As time went by, and I started writing, I realized that all those pains could be used for something good.

And I can assure you, rivers of blood, tears and sounds of screams have been flying around in my head. Somehow it thrilled and scared me to realize what feelings it could bring to me. I enjoyed it. Not that I enjoyed hurting and killing people in my imagination while writing. But I love writing.

I don't know exactly how to put this, because maybe some people might think I'm a crazy beast in a human body. Oh no, I'm not. I'm just an ordinary guy who uses the disappointments and inner pains on something creative: Writing fiction.

All those inner pains once turned into dark thoughts and low down periods. Oh yeah, I assure you, that I've been crying tears and having a lot of bad feelings.

Now, I'm the one who takes care of it, because I didn't want these disappointments and pains control my life.

I started using these disappointments in some kind of reflections back in 2004, when I started showing the psychologist what I felt in written words.

Later I realized that it was a great tool for keeping the good mood and holding back the pains. As time went by, I started doing it in my fiction too, because some of the fictitious pieces of writing is actually inspired a bit by my own feeling, fears, inner pains, disappointments.

And why do I use those feelings? Because I know them, and many other people do.

I also use them, because it heals me.

When I was writing my first short story, I realized while writing, that one of the characters had been bullied when he was a child. Suddenly I felt it like he was a fictitious dark side of my mind. He was my tool to have my revenge. Somehow it scared me, thinking of the brutal ways he used to get his revenge. But it was also a great feeling.

It felt like I was there, looking through his eyes. But on the other hand, I'm glad I wasn't him and he wasn't me.

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