When Fiction Becomes Reality
I don’t write much fiction on my blog. People want short. People want precise. People want to come here and find something to which they can relate. And, did I mention they want all that in the first sentence?
If you write fiction, you know how complex those demands are. They aren’t unreasonable, but they require more pieces of me than I’m willing to give away for free. I use the blog to see which characters get a rise out of a few people, and I fill in the colors elsewhere.
Still, I’ve used fiction here and there to work through a personal problem, to try to understand what makes people in my life act the way they do.
How Pat Conroy of me. Ha.
Penelope was one of those characters, borne of my confusion over the way Aunt Polly treated me. During the worst of her ugliness, I turned to this blog to try to work out how she ended up the way she did.
What surprised me was how many readers wanted more Penelope. I hated her, and I couldn’t understand why she fascinated people.
Maybe you can tell me, Dear Reader.
I am re-running the first Penelope series this week, because I will be totally without internet through Thursday. Please understand that I will not be able to visit blogs, respond to comments or email, or be present on social media.
Fiction calls. Think of me while I bleed.