Friday, April 17, 2009

The Perils of Non-fiction

Just submitted a story to my writing class that started as a character exercise about a guy I went to high school with. I wrote it with the intention that it would be seen by my teacher and no one else. When she emailed to ask if she could share it with the class, my ego said, "Of course!" before my brain had a chance to evaluate the situation.

It's weirdly horrifying; putting real people from my past out there for other people to see from my point of view--with all my bias. I'm pretty sure no one in my writing class has any direct connections to Cincinnati suburban public schools, but I'm still a little anxious it'll somehow get back to him.

I always assume people don't want to be written about. The idea of someone else writing things about me, things I have no control over, really freaks me out.

(I do love to write about myself, though, if you haven't noticed.)

In other news, some advice:

Don't feed your dog with one hand and yourself with the other. You'd be amazed how easy it is to mix that up.


Andy said...

So did you get kibble or did Milo get cereal?

Kristin said...

The kibble was in my mouth.


Never again.