Reading fiction makes me want to write, except that all I can seem to write is personal stuff, and I’m not big on writing roman-a-clefs because they’ll reveal too much about myself. Although come to think of it, that’s part of being a writer, isn’t it? That we slice ourselves open, dissect our fears, and offer them to the world for their criticism and praise.
I think all my stories have bits of me stuck in them. They reveal the things I can’t say outright: fear of rejection, desire for company, and much more. I use the written word to lay out what I can’t spill as myself. In a way, all my stories are about me.
I used to write a lot, even if I didn’t put them on my blog. Fiction, bad poetry – I didn’t care, I just wanted to write. But I either ran out of stories to tell, or the courage to tell them.