All good writing is about pain. But this is insufferable.

We’ve been burying our children, tens of them. We’re all affected.

One nation. One heart.

In this country, where it’s all for one and one for all.

Our reality these days involves burying sons, brothers and fathers. We’re living in a harrowing reality where young boys are killed and where children are orphaned. Some before they are born.

I want to escape. It’s too much to contain.

I grab a pen and flee for my notebook.

I do my best to pour my heart out on the white page, manipulating my feelings for the benefit of my characters. I attempt to continue building my world and characters, setting the stage for them to fight their own battles.

I write. Delete. Rewrite. Cry.

And then start the cycle again.

I think about lives lost and lives shattered. Hopes that have turned to dust and scattered by the wind.

Will this ever end? Can it ever end if humankind doesn’t take responsibility for its actions?

My characters will be more responsible.

Can they be less?

I want desperately to write.

Instead, I cry.