The Stories We Tell

Last night was the first meeting of our new 8-week writing term. I shared an excerpt from my novel (which stands at 18,536 words!) with the large group. We don't applaud after sharing -- a bell is rung and we move on to the next woman -- so the words just kind of sit there. Which is kind of scary.

And while fiction can be liberating because I use made up names and situations, it's more of a challenge for me to share it with a larger group. I'm asking the group to enter a made-up world for just a few minutes. I'm asking them to listen to and understand the different voices and characters. (And one of those characters was slightly intoxicated -- I wonder how that came across!)

I've always felt more at ease sharing personal anecdotes and stories of anxiety (and of grandmothers) in the large group than fiction, because I know those are more accessible. Then again, I've never shared anything so deeply personal that I couldn't put it here on the blog; I might be comparing apples and oranges.