I've started writing a new novel, a cosy, and I'm having fun. The discovery experienced while traveling new regions of my mind required to write fiction is intoxicating me.
Fueled by these familiar feelings, I shared some of the characters, setting and plot with my wife, the one I call my significant other, my ally through life, she who I love but sometimes hate, she who perplexes me even when she supports me. For on hearing what I was writing, she reacted, "You can't write that. What will my sisters think?"
I proferred her a long huuuhhh look before asking, "Why would your sisters care about this?"
"She lives in Ashland? She comes into some money when her brother-in-law dies?"
"Jeff has cancer. He's probably going to die."
Ah.... Jeff is her brother in law. Now I saw where she was coming from and realized she hadn't paid full attention. She'd engaged in selective listening.
"That's just one piece of information. She inherits the money from her brother-in-law because he and his wife lost their only son decades ago in Vietnam, and his wife had already passed away. Besides that, this character is thirteen years older than you, a retired school teacher with four grown boys, three that are married with children. Other than having a brother-in-law that's deceased from cancer and it being a woman, there are no other similarities with you."
She was not mollified. "Watch what you write. My friends and family are never going to trust me again."
I didn't respond on the outside, but on the inside, The Writer snorted and answered, "Boy, if you only knew."
What else does she expect? Fiction mirrors life and life mirrors fiction. They're weaves from the same events that humans experience in our spheres of reality, life and fiction. There will be spillover.
When it all comes out, there could be blood.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com