Today I had lunch with a fellow writer. This gal is so talented it's ridiculous. She had asked me for feedback on her manuscript and although one could consider her work-in-progress creative nonfiction, I read it through the prism of a fictional lens. This begs the proverbial question: Where does the line blur between nonfiction and fiction? To qualify as nonfiction exactly how much (# of words and / or pages) must qualify as TRUTH? Conversely, at what murky point does "fiction" (LIES) take over? For the answer I turn to my mentor on the page: the late, great, William Maxwell and his novella So Long, See You Tomorrow. This blurring—between truth and lies—informs my work. As of tonight, nothing is physically packed; however, the stacks grow taller, the nights extend longer, and the excitement knob on my internal stove is set at simmer.
Dispatches from Dorland: Reflections on my writing progress and process.
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