I make a wicked fact/fiction martini. Stirred and sometimes shaken. No olive or pickled onion; I can dry it up or water it down. Either way, it’s a cocktail with a kick (I hope).
When Phylor’s Blog was about chronic health issues, was I more revealing of myself? Did I dollop out information on a personal level?
Maybe Phylor’s Blog: a fictional autobiography actually gives more away. A character or a narrator might be me, with a thin layer of fiction.
My post popular blog remains a post on an anti-histamine diet. My best year for visitors and comments — 2012. The year of my mental health. The year after I exploded, jigsaw puzzled my life.
I have cognitive problems helping to fade recent memories into torn, sepia pictures from 2 centuries ago. I forget what I post; I post what I forget. There is one post that I do remember. But the post, not the remembory, is lost in my transitional years.
I found a journal of poems from when I was in my late teens, early twenties. Many could be written yesterday; by a soul seeking a tao. But then I post free verse on a blog of my fictional autobiography.
Written for Mindlovemisery’s Writing Prompt 110: Meraki*
* I like to think my dna is part of every post. That I write with passion. That I write with creativity. It’s up to the reader to decide if that is fact or fiction.
© phylor, 2015