I have been a fan of fiction books my entire life. I devoured all kinds of books – from Westerns to Sci-Fi to Mysteries to Thrillers to Drama to Historical Fiction to Love Stories to Teen Angst Novels to Tragedies to Biographies and everything in between.
I envied writers who could make up stories that were compelling, imaginative and intriguing. When I attempted to do this (in school mostly) my stories were lame. At best I could rip off someone else’s plot and substitute sightly different details for my story.
I developed my writing style through my sales career. Instead of having a knack for fiction, I learned to write proposals, presentations and speeches based on facts. I discovered my best presentations were built around stories that reinforced the message. It’s just that my stories were true stories.
I believed that I simply didn’t have the creativity, imagination or talent to create fiction.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday someone reached out to me about something I wrote on my blog. It was one of my usual blunt comments. I made a few observations and drew conclusions, like I often do.
My reader sent me a note about my comment with an explanation of the situation. It turns out my assumptions were more than off base. They were entirely incorrect.
I was mortified that I had: 1) offended her 2) was unkind and judgmental 3) was wrong on multiple counts
My “victim’s” response was juxtaposed to my post. She was charming and witty in her response to me.
As I was thinking about her, this incident and the few brief conversations we had in the past, I realized I make up stories in my head all the time.
I observe something and then draw conclusions quickly. I fill in the blanks with assumptions and judgements that I have made up in my head.
I am a creator of fiction. I just didn’t realize it because I think my stories are accurate and true.
That being said, I’m going to try to a little less quick to judge.
This particular incident has an interesting and ironic twist which I’ll write about someday. Just not today.