Mixing up fiction and reality

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This past weekend, Angela asked me about strange interviews and I told her, oh yeah, I remember when this and that happened. I suddenly paused and she asked, what’s wrong? I embarrassedly realized I had somehow confused the events of a short story I had written with real life ha ha.

Some random musings:

-It’s amazing to see all this fantastic art in Paris inside the museums, while outside, there’s advertisements and movie posters (like that cool image of Eva Green from Sin City- I still haven’t seen the movie though I’ve wanted to!). I know a lot of effort goes into posters like the above and shouldn’t be dismissed because of their commercial design. At the same time, you can’t help but marvel when you see old paintings and sculptures and the amount of time and effort that went into each. And no, they didn’t have ctrl + z for mistakes.

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-With all the moving I’ve been doing, I’ve been really reluctant to buy physical copies of books, opting instead solely for PDFs and mobi copies. This is a complete turn from where I was just a few years ago. I hope once I settle, I can get back into the habit of buying actual books again. There were lots of amazing bookstores in Europe and I loved navigating each one, even if most of the books were in a foreign language. I was particularly interested in this Orwell book.

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-I’m working on a couple different projects, though all very slowly now. My new book is with my agent, and I’ve kind of slowly been putting out feelers for a few different ones. I also have a few books on the archive that I’ve been reworking and feel really good about. Restating the cliche- books really do take on a life of their own, evolving and changing with your own personal changes. I’m reading something I finished almost a decade ago and I remember exactly how I felt, what I was going through, and all the struggles I had personally (even though I’d forgotten so much of it all these years later). At the same time, I’ve changed so much as a writer, I want to tweak to match my own current perspectives, but I’m reminding myself, no, Peter, stay true to the original messages and themes. You can make cosmetic changes, but that’s it. Still, another part asks myself, how much of all that angst is what I was feeling, and how much of it is fiction? I guess a big part of an author’s role is to make that boundary seamless as disparate flavors of gelato.

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