fiction and blogging
So someone wondered when I’d be moving to Paris to join my French boyfriend. Good grief. Must have been my I love Paris post set him off, don’t you think? Blogging has hazards I hadn’t even considered. I mean, sure, I love imagining surroundings for bloggers I enjoy reading, but I also realise that that’s where the boundary to fiction lies. Yes, what I blog is (mostly) true, but there is so much that I don’t blog that unless you know me, the idea you have of me from these words probably has more to do with fiction than reality. Your imaginings, not my world. I suspect blogs are smokescreens as much as windows.
What’s really happening? Well, this morning I woke up, missed Scott (who is wonderful and lives by a beach far from Paris), booked tickets to go see him (quite soon, really, just a few weeks), showered, woke my daughter, sang, chatted, packed lunches, got her to school and me to work, made sure the bookstore has all the books for my class and now I’m planning teaching. First lecture of the year is at noon. Afterwards I’ll do my one hour of writing. It would have been better to do it before teaching, but, it’s the first class and… well, you know.
Even with that kind of detail, most of what you imagine of my morning is probably coming from your imagination. Not from my reality. Strange, isn’t it? But you know, even Weez’s stories of dating leave out almost everything, and when Jane’s blog was black for a month after posts about depression she came back with photos of kisses and stories of joy and holidays.