There I have said, or rather, since I wrote about it, and ... It plays a role in my novel. In it, some people who say there should not be written about. I refer to as the white elephant (s). There are sometimes more than one. Some critics say, Oh no, not a novel about incest, or oh no, not another novel about mental illness, or oh no, not another novel about youth drug use and of course the character must not be blank. Now I say, perhaps, these issuesElephants, which we know exist, as in the space below all our air to breathe ... But we are sitting just do not want to read or hear about them. After all, it's so ... so banal.
Well, maybe my novel is not really about these questions, but maybe ... just maybe, these questions about some more or less to play the characters 'life' of which I write. And so the white elephant is not white, not black, gray, brown or even more. What does this mean exactly? My narrator is a woman of color,but since he worked in a white world for so long that you do not come to an obstacle blocking their hybridity, or equals. It 's easy to know more about language and language is usually with his old mother. Furthermore, women in the novel struggle with the challenge as sex objects by those who do not see, they should be seen as such. An old story, one that nobody cares to hear about more, is not it?
All I canis the thought when I sent my novel to agents and publishers for over a year, some of them were much more to see Than the Basic query letter just interested, But there were few who did not just contain anything to read, that the word incest or molestation. OMG I excuuuse. Then I think this kind of challenges in life people should simply be ignored or not spoken or written. I'm about done? We read much about these things? Perhaps we shouldonly say that these things really happen. I mean, why should he care?
I think it's the old argument that only when things hit close to home, we do not care about them. Sound a bit 'trivial. But it's true ... understand none of us knows what is the pain of a loss or a wound that will not stop crying, the unless this kind of closeted white elephant from the darkness rose, and called attention to the kitchen center of our feelings, bedroom or living room andchoking the life out of us so strong that we have forgotten how to feel the warmth of the sun on our faces. And for the same reason we should not write or read about this test, because, goodness, we could bore the reader or viewer? I wonder, as I looked and looked again a white elephant sitting on me.
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