For the past year, I have been working on a collection of creative non-fiction. As a genre, I love Creative Non-Fiction. It is raw and real. It is the world as perceived by another human being, it is the reality of the human spirit. When I write, I discover more about my life. For example, I recently wrote a story about a war I have been having with a mouse. The story began as a funny little tale about a mouse in my apartment, and turned into the story of myths and how they affect our lives.
I am about three stories deep in the ten story collection, and I am beginning to face a roadblock. I do not find anything in my life interesting.
Interesting problem, isn’t it? I feel that it has to be common. We have lived our lives, we have been present. Our lives are commonplace to us. I have traveled around Europe, been in races, performed on stage, given presentations, and I have a hard time distinguishing the parts of my life that I would like to tell a story about.
I am facing another burden, the inability to sacrifice part of my life. I genuinely do feel this way, that when I write about my life I am giving part of it up. Not only am I making it public, I am separating myself from it. I have to. I need to be a storyteller, not a character. It is difficult for me to do both.
Where do you find your inspiration? What stories are you willing to sacrifice to the muse?