On a whim…

One of my daughters suggested I should write non-fiction. She says she likes the way I write about people I know. A book of vignettes, she said, would suit my style. Pondering this I realize that most of the people I write about are dead. I somehow doubt that many will happily seek membership in my list. But what if I did that? When people recognize themselves in fiction it is one thing but when they recognize themselves elsewhere it’s another. Maybe the stories are not so much about ‘them’ as they are about what ‘they’ mean to me. I wonder how others deal with this and I am not thinking of the political crop of “kiss and tell” exploitation. Surely there are others whose story of their on life really consists of intersections with others. Ordinary people whose ordinary paths cross and through the alchemy of chance extraordinary moments of hope and grace are achieved. Yeah, maybe I will do just that. Besides, if I keep writing about hope and grace people may assume it must be fiction after all.