Nemesis, NoBloPoMo, Reflections, Stories...

Fiction or Not Fiction?

I use “not fiction” rather than “non-fiction” for a reason here, because the question I’m throwing out there is this: is it possible, sometimes, that what we write as fiction may somehow become real?

I ask this for a reason, of course…

Having had a day yesterday that bordered on surreal, and knowing my own personal struggles with defining what is real, I am beginning to worry (at least a tiny bit) about the potential implications of my pending writing challenge.  I am to write a villian who is wicked as hell, and smarter than my protagonist; who stays two or three steps ahead at all times; and who may, or may not, be defeated in the end.  And I’m writing him “on the fly,” so to speak, without an outline or a plan, so that even I, as the author, will not know what to expect.  (Odd, isn’t it, that my villian is already a “he,” and the story hasn’t begun yet…)

I spent time yesterday, between trying to make sense of the weird and eerie moments within it, allowing my mind to consider possibilities.  I wanted to explore the scene a bit, without influencing the characters or the plot.  Write what you know is always good advice, but step out of your comfort zone to challenge yourself; that is my mantra here.  So it occurs to me my story will no doubt develop into some form of psychological thriller, since that is what I know best, without researching much, and that I need to invite my foe in, so that I carry no preconceived notions about him; I’m trying to avoid the “planned” vibe…

But if it is true that we create our own realities, that our focused thoughts can manifest into real form, am I not somehow setting myself up here?  Should I be worried about what is created by this challenge?  Is this a “reasonable” question, or am I just being “crazy” again? And am I being fair and/or true to my self?

Synchronicity has been haunting me, ever since I wrote about it; throwing itself around in major ways to prove its power and precision in my life.  And yesterday brought that home to me in a potent way, as a draft I was writing manifested a response almost immediately (without ever being published, even!)!  And there were random Facebook posts, (not directed at me, but just passing by), that hinted and warned about staying positive these days, as what we think is more likely to manifest in some way.

And it was all enough to make me question the wisdom of this endeavor, for me anyway.  Do I really want to unleash the darkness within, and give time to explore it every single day?  And I find myself asking my self once again: is it possible, sometimes, that what we write as fiction may somehow become real?

“Silly, Lisa,” I hear running through my head.  “It’s just a story!  Nothing to worry about here!”

And then laughter erupts, sounding wicked and mean, but it is distant, and quite likely imagined by me…

And this is real life I’m writing in, right?  I did wake up today, didn’t I?  And this is clearly not a dream…

Or is it?

Is that the frigid chill of foreshadowing I feel?

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