When my novella came out, I sent emails to everyone I knew asking them to buy it and spread the word. Several friends stepped up and bought the story which made me very happy. Then I got an email from one asking if everything was alright between me and my husband.
Huh?
The story involves a comic book artist and a comic book editor who had split up years earlier. The artist shows up at a convention to get the editor back.
My husband was a comic book artist. I went to many conventions. I was writing what I knew. But it's not autobiography. None of it is really autobiography. Parts do come from my life. Other parts come from my friends lives and yet others come from movies I've seen, dreams I've had and straight out of my own fevered brain.
I emailed the friend and told him not to worry, but I have to wonder, do people really think my life is that interesting? That exciting and stressful? God, I hope not. The pain and humiliation I put Lindsey and Kent through I wouldn't wish on anyone. At least not anyone real. My characters I'll continue to torment for my own jollies.
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1 comment:
Its funny you should mention this. I have a friend who also writes and I have to admit I'm always looking to find mutual friends (or even myself!) under different names in her stories--then again, she really does base a lot of her characters on real people.
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