Last week I came across this article from the Wheeler Centre by Jessie Cole which talks about the self revelation of writing fiction. As an author, I’ve had that happen to me. I didn’t pay much attention to it until this afternoon.
I’m writing about two characters. They’re not getting along so well.
I’m trying unsuccessfully to postpone the final falling out between them.
Today, sadly was the day they got into their last argument.
As the author I was clear what they were going to say and how it would end.
What really happened is that I’m crouched behind a bush, listening to these two people I know unfold themselves in front of me.
Until the argument began. It simply doesn’t go to plan. Until several pages later I realise it’s something I always wanted to be brought into the open. It’s even more confronting as its something I don’t think can be resolved. Obviously I need to write some more about that.
So Jessie Cole is right, writing fiction isn’t safe at all.
But upon reflection, neither is blogging. I just think its a safer. To begin with, I ‘m writing about people I meet and things that happen to me. I can choose to leave things in or exclude what doesn’t make me feel comfortable. But…
Upon re-reading and reflection, even that isn’t safe. Unwittingly I have exposed thoughts and feelings and emotions that I wouldn’t shout out in a crowd. I need to write some more about that.