Lists and the Fiction Factor

Truth can be a real bitch sometimes. That's the first line that came out this morning and therefore, it's gonna stay put. I try so hard sometimes to apply the "everything is fiction" rule to my work. I know I know, there isn't really a rule that says that...but I sometimes just need there to be one for sanity's sake. Thinking about how much of my own heart and soul goes into my daily rantings, I need something that will keep me grounded when it comes to writing...at least for writing.

I feel the need to make a list.
Lists put things in perspective.

Things I feel today:

• love
• inspiration
• stress
• cramps
• conflict
• curiosity
• frustration
• hope despite the stress and conflict
• occasional disappointment
• longing to be someplace I am not right now
• less and less of an inability to say what I really want to say

Perhaps the last one is the best for me right now...however when I look at the impulse to put the big L word at the top of the list I guess that isn't exactly saving the best for last. Hmm how should I read this? I feel like I always read things from the bottom moving upwards unless it's a story. Therefore first would actually be last, therefore saved and then...oh man do I over-analyze everything or what?! Then again, each day in life is a story.

At the risk of exasperation, I make many lists as I sit in my office grading papers and thinking about where I would rather be or who I would like to spend time with. I make lists at home and then I run out of the house with a monstrous page of ideas and end up sitting in the park with a notebook and pen. I make lists about everything. How many things I need to do today, this morning, this afternoon, by the end of the week...then I look at them and cross off half the stuff and say "Realistically what can I do?" and they shrink in size quite a bit.

This morning I was thinking about how I could apply the "everything is fiction" rule to my own life, and to these never-ending lists. It's amusing actually, because about five months ago, this might have worked. I would look at pleasurable things that happened and I would think "Wow this is surreal, so it's kind of not really happening"...fiction! Or maybe I would see something hurtful happen and not want that visceral truth that I know is coming and would just toss it aside saying "I can't even believe that happened"...fiction! However for the past few months it's not easy to do so. The fiction factor has decreased drastically.

Looking at why, I think I know basically what's happening but there are a great deal of things that I need to consider. For example: is it safe to feel all these things and really let them be real? I see as I re-read that this is not exactly forthcoming and well... to be honest I can't always be detailed with every single thing. On the other hand, I seem to be getting to a point of no return. I have reached a new part of my life and am feeling really really good about some parts of it. Others...well other parts just make the cramps worse.

So what to do when life hangs between letting the fiction rule slide a bit and letting the truth just take it's hold on your heart? I have to say I have always had a preference for narrative non-fiction; an inkling to follow my Austen-like heart. Could that be my answer? Maybe...But the scary thing is, it's always been safer to write fiction.

Some of the best advice I've received:

• write like everybody you know is dead
• tell people how you feel
• don't say it if you wouldn't ever get over someone saying it to you
• be yourself
• write it down even if it hurts
• do it anyway

The last one was always my favorite...but these days I'm looking at # 2 as being most important.

Whether it be truth that is stranger than fiction, or fiction with autobiographical stuff in-between the lines, or even just a novel with characters that never existed, I am still a voracious reader. The question is can I keep writing in a way that will allow me to express truth, fiction, and perhaps most of the realistic lists... I just don't know...but I really want a lot of things right now, and that usually means yes. I guess that's why they call it rough drafting--it's never easy. It's never smooth. But sometimes you have to get through the rough before you can even think about stuff flowing smoothly.

Thinking of life as a rough draft is like

• comfort
• consolation
• hugs
• blankets
• kisses
• eyes you can look into for hours and never get tired
• sleeping next to someone you adore
• Cheerios and whole milk
• a sloppy kiss from a giant doggie who steals your heart
• your favorite sneakers
• macaroni and cheese

I could go on quite a while with things that comfort, but I think you get what I'm saying.

Therefore: life is a rough draft and it will forever be rewritten. I guess I just want as much comfort as I can have without needing to rely on fiction all the time. Is that too much to ask for?