I am a writer, and my stories have always been based on my own experiences. After a date you’d normally find me on the tube writing in my notebook; jotting down thoughts and expressions I noticed during the date. Same after a night in the club, I would write down the way the music transformed me, how I danced inappropriately, how I wanted to punch that guy who touched that girl.
I have loved that side of writing. I loved how the words on paper seemed easier to reflect and laugh at, how the worst date ever could turn into a chapter of a bigger story. It was my world, but I was the boss of the outcome; the sad ending, the twist, the unexpected.
Now, every date night is with the same guy, and every night out leads me home to the same bed and the same arms.
I have been worried that this life won’t give me material to be creative with anymore.
But, creative writing gives me the freedom to still explore previous experiences, relationships and events that I now am much further away from. I can explore other peoples experiences, which in some cases is better, it distance me from the plot and the “but that’s what happened”.
Creative writing gives me space for reflection and new angles, it gives me plain paper with the encouragement to develop a plot, a scenario based on real life events and to build something relatable around that.
All I have to do is convince my boyfriend that the bad men in my stories are not based on him, or anyone else (because he is obviously the first guy I’ve ever dated).