Self Artist

If you've read any of my work, this may surprise you but I have a fantastic sense of humour and I laugh a lot, more than most people; ironically, the trait most attributed to me is my deep, guttural laugh that involves my head being thrown back, my mouth open and my hand on my chest as if to keep the joy from escaping.
You would never know it from reading the dark, twisted fiction I write and the other day I was re- reading a particularly disturbing piece titled, Dead Bird, a light hearted prose about the soul wrenching loss of a lover and the lonely road women walk to themselves, but I digress. My story, Dead Bird hit me square between the eyes and I realized that I am THAT kind of artist, I have a deep well of darkness that I exorcise and exercise through the stories I create. It made me laugh out loud, a deep belly laugh when I imagined some of you clicking on and reading my demented tales and possibly feeling frightened, certainly made uncomfortable by the well of pain and sorrow I put into words and stories.
How can I convince you that I am a joy to be around and a load of fun?
The more I create fiction, the more my darkness is unsheathed and the more it makes me laugh, let me assure you that I am a dichotomy of joy and sorrow; as the famous poet Khalil Gibran says: The deeper sorrow is etched into your cup so that it may contain more Joy.
I have very deep etches in my cup.
I hope I don't scare you off with my brutally revelatory works of fiction, my creative life seems to need to dig out the dark and mould it into something new, then offer it to the world for involvement and interaction then I move onward to the next story.
Story telling is the only profundity I have been able to discover in this life, I believe ultimately that is why religious books are so popular because they are telling the human story; stories of birth, life, creation, suffering, loss and death which is what all stories are innately about. What I create daily with words and characters and pain surprises me most of all; where does it come from? Who am I? Why do I tell such frightening tales? Why can't I just be like everyone else, telling pretty stories that are simple and have happy endings?
Every day, I find out who I am through my art, I learn to accept my astounding complexities and confounding duplicity of my nature through the work and revelation of my stories. I stopped being a truly tormented soul when I learned to write, I began to feel valuable when I learned to use those words to tell stories and give them away.
I have never been like everyone else and only through my art of story telling through fiction have I ever felt acceptable to me. I write my way out of the suffering.
I am sorry if my work, my words, my truth makes you squirm and itch but if you knew me you would love me.
I ask you; is your cup etched deep?