fiction based on truths.

all writers mine the world around them to varying degrees—whether the borrowed details are broad strokes, skeletal, or true to life with names tactfully changed. i hate it when readers of my writing assume that all detail has been lifted from my own experience, but inspiration has to come from somewhere. i’ve culled plenty of events from my own life and those of people i know, blending the details and threads into a larger, fictional piece. the exception to this is a novella i wrote for a workshop in college (enough said) about an ex-boyfriend, aptly titled “monster.” but that is neither here nor there.

today a friend of mine sent over a draft of a short piece she is work-shopping tonight for her MFA program. before she pressed send on her email to me, she warned that it was partly inspired by and loosely based on one of my past relationships. my name wasn’t outright mentioned but the brush strokes were there. this is a dear friend so obviously i wasn’t angry, i have done the same thing for years. it did make me feel a little sick to see my own experiences distilled in someone else’s words—odd to be on the receiving end of appropriation.