fiction

by Andrea Elizabeth

I keep putting off real writing. By real writing I mean a story, I suppose. A well described story. Not the scientific method of hypothesizing and proving, or analytical exploration, as I indulge in here, but in taking the time to describe things sensorily and chronologically. Maybe gnostic exploration of ideas is safer? If you get all your ideas right, then you can implement them in real life. But describing real life is very tricky, as I’ve written before. Problem solving about this trickiness is, again, safer.

I don’t know if describing things in detail leaves me too vulnerable, or too attached to them. Since I’ve only had full faith in sola Scriptura most of my life, I can trust the sparceness of Biblical description. But I also know that leaving description out can leave a cold, don’t get too close impression. Maybe that’s just too bad? I’m also kind of liking detachment and renunciation right now. The post I did about dog training was about becoming less emotionally dependent on dogs and making them work. Detachment. When I describe things in a satisfying way, it is as if I am in love with the thing and derive all my joy from it. This feels unfaithful to God.Talking about my relationship with God or my inner circle of people feels unfaithful to them. So instead, I’m problem solving again.

I think I should really try fiction, but that scares me for some reason. Firstly, as Stephen King says, you have to do it alone and not let anyone see it till it’s done. That’s scary, and something I can’t do in blog format. So lonely! I’m too afraid of the dark.

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