Because it really is personal…

I’m thinking of writing a short story. I like writing. It would have to be about someone I know…me, mainly, because it’s the only head I can really get into and understand. The circumstances would need to be ones I can understand…like mine, only maybe different. Maybe my life with a dollop of the (whatever it is) that I wished for. You know, a housewife with invisible aliens talking to her all day. Or Lawrence Olivier showing up to deliver the UPS package. That would be cool, especially if he were in the regency era clothing from Pride and Prejudice (guess what i watched at JerseyChicks). Fantasy stuff, Rootie Style. No smut, no violence. Perhaps it will be about something that actually happened, and people will read it and say “she’s making that up.”

Some of the best stuff I’ve read lately have been ones that leave me wondering if it’s fact or fiction. Told in the first person (mine would be third person because I like to disassociate). I’ve thought about writing of my experience with The Good Dr. Hs…that is, The Good Dr. H, Psychiatrist, and The Other Good Dr. H, Psychotherapist…2 men in my life who influenced me almost as much as the one I married, but in a totally different way. I think that may be the first one I write, about going crazy and the aftermath…only…not necessarily *me*, you know…a fictional-ish short story. I’ll have to think about it.

How much of *me* is supposed to be in it? Do I want to expose myself that much? Thing is, I have been pretty transparent here anyway. Turning it into a short story could be fun, and I’d like to leave the reader wondering how much is true and what part isn’t. Hm…A Project. I think I’ll swap keyboards out, because this one kinda sucks.