I am a far better stenographer than a Shakespeare.

I have come to realize that in my own writing, I write far better about things that actually happened than anything else. This, I have long felt, has ruled out fiction writing as a possible creative outlet.

It has only been recently that I have started really thinking about the nature of fiction. If I make up a story using events from my life, does that count as fiction? If I could paste it together well enough, could my fact be someone else's fantasy? The more I have thought about it, the more I've realized that as long as an event isn't happening in my life, it may as well be fiction to me. Or anyone.

Maybe the best way to live is to act as though fiction were just another word for possibility. If you do, layers of depth and meaning instantly unfold, and you love life just a little bit more. I can live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, because I read it in Thoreau. I have no fear, because Huck lived through worse. I can be mad, because Dean was and that's why I love him. It doesn't matter whether or not it really happened, because it's just words on a page. I put the meaning into them, not the other way around.

I have also come to realize that I say a lot of words but never really say anything.

Maybe there's hope for me yet.