For My Fiction

Another Monday. I hope you’ve had a pleasant weekend. Let’s start the week with a (somewhat) lighthearted post.

[Country walk on Saturday. Hertfordshire, England. Photo by me, 2018.]

We had a good weekend…

[After-dinner drinks. Photo by me, 2018.]

…even though we also had relatives staying over!

With those visitors in the house, I was in my office only briefly. While I was, this issue hit me after remembering seeing it raised yet again somewhere recently. It led me to create this silly meme and post it to Instagram for a laugh:

I suspected other writers would definitely “get it.”

When I see authors on social media moaning over how their family doesn’t want read their books, I find I can only smile. Because I don’t understand why they would actually want them to do so? I’m ecstatic most of my relations are NOT interested in reading mine.

For that is creatively liberating. (Making sure family didn’t stumble on my books on, say, Amazon, was a large part of the reason I had started writing under a pen name in the first place in 2013 – to keep my writing separate from my “non-writing” identity.) I would feel I could not write as “freely” if I felt that the tale(s) would eventually be “dissected” by my relatives. I would “self-censor” myself at least a bit (to perhaps a lot), thus compromising and even undermining what I was writing for true readers to enjoy…

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And who needs troubles at home? I don’t want to have to explain โ€œsourcesโ€ for plot-lines, and/or “who” my characters are/were, “who/what” they may represent, and from “where” (as ideas) they came, and any sex, to my family. It’s all entirely my decision for my fiction.

Just my view. If you write, no doubt you have your own. We all approach this from our own personal perspective, of course.

Have a good Monday, wherever you are. ๐Ÿ™‚

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Author: โ€œConventions: The Garden At Paris,โ€ โ€œPassports,โ€ โ€œFrontiers,โ€ and โ€œDistances.โ€ British Airways frequent flier. Lover of the Catskill Mountains...and the 1700s.

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