No Boys Allowed
It was my sophomore year in college, my first relationship, and I thought it was going to last forever. I wrote about him the way I write about anything else in my life: it came up.
That relationship didn't work out, and neither did the one after that, and, well, you get the idea.
In many ways, I'm thankful for those posts. I was learning how to blog, I was finding my voice. I'm even thankful for the very honest posts that followed that first breakup.
I've been trying to be honest here on this blog and that has me thinking: is there too much honesty? Should some things be private?
For your sake, and mine, I don't share my thoughts as I think them, I process them. For your sake and mine, I'm not going to share my love story as it happens. I'd like to share it, but not until it's happened.
This is what I'm learning about writing creative non-fiction: it's all about me. This is a difficult concept for me, because I don't always want to brag about myself, or, conversely, to tell you how hard things are for me. But I have the gift, for better or for worse, of living inside my own head. I'm the only one who knows my story from the inside, I have to be the one to tell it. Other people will (and do) intersect with my story, and I will talk about them when I need to, but I am not telling their stories, they are theirs to tell. It's not fair to anyone to even mention boys who come and go.
I promise, when one promises not to go anywhere, I will let you know.