It annoys me. That I can't
That the only
way
to...
... be honest
is to write something fictional.
Or rather, the only socially acceptable way to be wholly and unflinchingly honest is to write your thoughts and discoveries within the parameters of a fictional story.
My favorite books have one thing in common. In each one, no thought or feeling is hidden from you, whether you want to hear it or not.
All the little things.
The things that no one thinks to mention because they don't think it's very significant.
Like in My Face in the Light, when she is captured by how his name literally looks like him in a way.
Like that feeling when someone dies in front of you. One moment, you are locked in an incredible connection of mortality and infinite understanding, and the next, you're profoundly alone.
