My life is tied to written words.
I chose to bind myself to them. Sure my mom led me to a love of reading with those countless trips to the library, but I fell in love with books and stories, characters -- imaginary and otherwise of my own volition.
That love of reading created the writer I am today. Now I'm bound to written words all the more. Writing is are how I express my ideas, my emotions, my sentiments. But it is also how I learn explore and investigate.
What I write isn't always true. That's the beauty. As a writer I can deliberate lay out untruths and still not get labeled a liar, but rather a novelist, a purveyor of fiction, an examiner of the human psyche.
Fiction authors do not tell the truth in the traditional sense,but we do reveal ideas, emotions, and sentiments that the universal truths of this world. We create something believable, tangible, and lasting. Or at least we do when at our best.
How do we do it?
By watching, studying, living.
Writing is often about the underbelly of life. The rawness lurking in the shadows that few of us ever want to expose to the light of day. Writing and reading are liberating pursuits.
I originally wrote this as a lead in to discuss my father. He passed away a few weeks ago. He was only 66. Unfortunately his affairs were not in order, and as I have always been somewhat estranged from his side of the family, I now find myself juggling to carry out his last wishes while settling his estate amidst dissenting views. This means a mess of lawyers and a pile of he said/she said.
No doubt a story or character will be born from all of this, for that is how the mind of a fiction writer works.
We search for bigger truths, hidden meanings, and scraps of humanity in all situations. Good and bad. This is definitely one of the bad, but I am a writer. My emotions are tied to words so perhaps the truths, the ideals, the emotions of this will eventually elevate my ability to tell a compelling story, because unlike people, written words, can live on forever.