The Pollyanna Files, the raison d'etre

I tried blogging under another blog name, but got tired of my own whining. But that's not the real reason I deleted that blog and started this one. The reason is...

I need to get all the glad out of me. Get the happy out of my system.

This is the thing: I'm a writer of romance novels. Don't get me wrong, I love writing them, and I know they serve a good purpose; I've had women with cancer, depression, or other life stress write to me and tell me they've gained relief from their pains and stresses by reading them. God knows any respite from life traumas is a good thing, and in my opinion, women get hit with a lot of them especially. But....

My publisher wants me to write dark and moody books.

Now I can do that. I've done it before, liked writing them, and they've sold very, very well, which is why my publisher wants me to write more. Problem is, the times I've done it, I've had some major stresses in my life. First time, my dad was dying of cancer. Wrote two dark and gothicky books, both in quick succession. The second time, my husband's union was on strike, we were sinking into debt, and I hadn't been in the work force for 7 years and was trying to find a job. Wrote two dark and tragic books then, too.

See, the thing is, I'm a happy person. I have a good life. My husband is a darling man, devoted to me, loves me dearly. My son is a VERY smart teenager, with a kind heart and good nature. We have a house in the suburbs, we're solidly middle-class, and maybe we don't go on vacation nearly enough (once in the last 14 years!) but all in all, we're doing all right, and I KNOW how to count my blessings.

But see, that's the problem. Right now, I know for sure my writing's going to the light side. What's not to be happy about? And the happy is coming out in my writing. My characters joke a lot. They're nice to each other. The heroes especially want to be kind and gentle, not dark and dangerous and edgy. They have no emotional problems, do not need therapy. In other words, they are entirely too much like my very nice, loving husband.

Now perhaps I should do something, like volunteer to help the less fortunate. Their plight surely would get me down, and I'll end up considering the depressing realities of life.

Fact is, I DO volunteer, and have done so at homeless shelters, and believe you me, these people are down and out, sometimes with little help in sight. I know about people so desperate they prostitute themselves, dig in garbages for food, are so sick with pneumonia they're barely crawling. People who aren't even adults yet. Teens who should be thinking about the prom, but who are so beaten up by life already that they cringe whenever anyone approaches them, sure they're going to get hit once again.

The problem is, I'm a realist. I know I can't cure these problems all by myself, but I can do my part, and I'm doing it, and it makes me happy that I'm doing something that helps others. I like seeing good happen for them, and it does happen. I also look at those people, and--gee, go figure--I look at my life and think, hey, whatever problems crop up in my life are TINY compared to what these folks have, and boy am I grateful for everything I've got.

Gas prices going up? Hey, the reason I think about that is because I've GOT a car. These people don't even have bus fare.

I've gained a few pounds? Lucky me! I've got food to eat, more than enough.

My clothes have rips in them? Thank God I have clothes to rip.

And so on. What's not to be happy about?

Shoot, even when my dad died, I felt deep grief at his passing, but after a few years, reflected that he was a truly contented man, had no regrets, and had accomplished everythiing he had set out to do in his life. Everything. He died with no regrets, with family around him. He loved and was loved back. Is that riches or what? Not even Howard Hughes had that. The reality is that we all die. The good thing is that my dad lived and died well. I learned something from that.

See what I mean?

But this does not work for writing dark and moody books, because I am not feeling dark and moody. No dark and moody things are going on in my life. And frankly, I am not willing to have bad things happen just so I can satisfy my publisher's wishes. I am totally good, in cahoots, am hand-in-hand with having a happy life.

There has got to be another way to get into the dark and dangerous mood.

Hence the Pollyanna Files.

I have always thought that sneer that accompanied the phrase "Pollyanna" was unjustified. Truth is, you accomplish a lot more looking for the positive than stewing in the juices of negative thinking. I'm not talking about ignoring reality. Unless you're really delusional (and actually, being in blissful delusion might just have a good side to it), you can't ignore the horrors around you, because the news media is all too happy to have you shell out your bucks to buy bad news. The same bad news over and over again, and I have the statistics to back it up.

Besides, it's hard to think positive without seeing the negative in the first place. Think about it.

So, this is where I'll be doing my positive writing. I'm going to channel the happy into this blog, and leave the dark and moody to the novels. What will be here will be the hopeful stuff, the funny stuff, the "aw, how cute" stuff. I hope the Pollyanna Files are going to be so danged positive and happy that diabetics will have to take their meds before they encounter the sweetness herein. I might grouse, but the grousing will have the happy ending.

With hope, that'll get all the happy out of my system so that I can write DARK and make my publisher happy.

Wish me luck.

--Karen H.