I have to admit that I am terrible with nonfiction.
It has never been as compelling to me as fiction is.
I told myself and everyone that I was going to start posting in the other sections of the website, that I’d be updating a section every day. I had a whole plan for each of them. I had a start to the schedule, and Mondays were supposed to be “Mondays and Me,” the one day a week I was going to fill in something in the Kabobbles on Kabobbles section of the site.
That’s just the thing, though. I am a rather boring person outside of my writing. I had thoughts of sharing the parts of my vacation this year since it tied into Inheritance a little, and I also have a few pieces I meant do for the from a character’s closet/my closet articles, but I just couldn’t summon the enthusiasm to type it up.
This is not a new thing to me. I hated papers all through school, and this probably sums things up for me personally:
“My life doesn’t have a very good plot
Guess I’ll have to lie a lot.”
~ Janis Ian, “My Autobiography”
I remember in sixth grade we had two major writing assignments. One was fiction. Mine got read aloud to the class. My nonfiction? I didn’t turn it in.
I had decided to talk about an event in my life, but it lacked drama, so I added it in.
Then I felt guilty because it was a lie.
And I hated the story.
So I didn’t want to turn it in, and no one understood why I would fail the class, since I was almost a straight A student. I was honest enough not to want the lie to go through, which is admirable, I suppose, but I should never have written it in the first place.
There’s a reason I write fiction. I don’t know that it’s a good reason, but I’d rather not get trapped in another lie.
Then again… That’s what some people would say all fiction is.