Looking back over the last two months or so, I see that I have not been writing much fiction on this here Post-it pad of my mind. I mused on that today during some idle moments without a firm conclusion to explain the data.
The poetry, I think, does not count. Insofar as I have a theory of poetry, it is my belief that it in its own way is always speaking truths or seeking to illuminate truths. Or even facts about our overlapping realities. I agree the language can be elliptical, even solipsistic, but the goal seems to always be a 'Truth'.
Fiction, on the other hand, illuminates truths through plausible lies we as readers want to be told. Some of the fiction I have written has been very thinly disguised examinations of real life situations or happenings. Other examples of my fiction, well, they are just plain made up. Pure unreality. But prose fiction for me has often been a simple matter of exercise for the mind, the joy of running through a mental forest and up cerebral mountains for the sheer hell or joy of it.
I have to say I enjoy it all. Yet, lately, the fiction has been scarce. The reasons elude me. Vague notions and suppositions seek to fill the void, but none seem satisfactory. Some of this may stem from my recent reawakened interest in reading fiction. You read that correctly: reading. Amazing, innit?
Work and personal matters have me so tied up that I've struggled to keep up the blog writing, the blog reading (sorry, my lovelies; if only I had a time distortion device...) and correspondence. This vexes me. I have been advised by more than one source, though, that I need to make sure I set aside some personal time to engage in things that give me juice. This, as a matter of personal preservation. Reading is one of those things, and good fiction is the cats' PJ's as far as I am concerned. So I've made it a point to spend at least a few minutes each night, no matter what, reading something I truly enjoy or something new, that isn't fodder for my geek-based information sensorium. Maybe it is a reawakened desire to imbibe fiction without the worry of having to produce it.
A side effect has been, as you see, that I am writing less of it. Which may be a good thing, maybe this is the time to recharge and revive. After all, conventional writing wisdom says that to be a good writer, one must above all, be a good reader...