My Writing Journey: The Quiet Storm
For a long time, the story lived inside of me as weight, not words. I wasn’t trying to be literary or clever. I was trying to be honest with myself. Writing The Quiet Storm meant giving myself permission to look straight at things most people look away from: violence in the home, a child’s rage, the silence that grows around abuse. I didn’t write to explain it. I wrote to understand and get past it.
The restraint might be the hardest part, and the one I mastered. I didn’t sensationalize the abuse or glorify the violence. I had to put trust in my readers. I let the tension sit in the room. That quiet, controlled pressure is what gives the book its power. Where a lot of writers might have gone louder, I went truer. I believe that choice defined my voice.
At some point, the book stopped being therapy and started being craft. I shaped it. I refined my point-of-view. I paid attention to pacing and emotional rhythm. I stopped asking, “Am I supposed to be writing this?” and started asking, “Is this the sharpest and most descriptive way to write it?” That’s the moment I crossed from someone with a story to tell into an author.
I feel like what’s most compelling about The Quiet Storm is that it doesn’t ask for sympathy. It asks for witness. I wanted readers to finish it feeling entertained, but I, also, wanted them to finish it feeling changed, unsettled, and more aware of how easily pain hides in plain sight.
—A.W. Collins
Get your Copy of “The Quiet Storm” today!