This post is really for me, not you guys, though some of you are going to get it. I just realized this morning why I write . . . and probably why you read.
I like broken things: the fractured tree, the wrinkled face, the pained walk, the old building still standing amid crime and poverty, the soul raging against the ravages of time, the mind struggling to retain itself and failing. This is where strength is, and broken is beautiful to me when six-pack abs and clear complexions have no worth.
This is why Rachel had a sickly childhood, why Ivy struggles with addiction even when she succeeds, and Jenks suffers to live when his wife and children are taken from him. This is why Strell fought against a lifetime of prejudice to love a woman from the hills, Tess struggled to balance death with power, Grace refused to accept a disease that took her career, and Peri suffers a twist of fate that takes her mind in little, insidious bites.
So if you want angsty, beautiful people doing amazing things, go somewhere else. My heros are broken, because we are all broken, and to see them overcome, is beautiful.