It's midnight, the lights are out in the house and heavy snoring is coming from one of the occupied bedrooms. I, on the other hand, am wide awake, staring at the brightly lit screen of my laptop and cursing to every god in every religion that I cannot, for the life of me, write an original character for my new story. The faces of the people I am close to float around in my head and I think to myself, screw it. It was time for drastic measures. I take a deep breath, my hands poised over the keyboard and start to type. My mother appears in the story and a new character is introduced who just so happens to be exactly like my best friend. But that's okay, I tell myself. It doesn't matter. Nobody will ever know.
Where do we draw the line between fiction and reality? Every author who has ever tried to write a novel before has probably been guilty of this. Even I can put up my hand and admit that one or two of my characters did not come from my imagination but from my life. But does that mean we're lying to our audience, to the world?
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories Galore
Short StoryInside you will find the ramblings of my mind that don't make it into full length novels.
