I write fiction because, even though the human condition is varied and unique to the individual, it is portrayed in the same manner in most non-fiction. Exaggerated hardship, deeper than the average person’s pain and suffering, fantastical – almost to the divine miraculous – beating the odds to overcome adversity. Readers flock to this over the top telling of stories hoping to find inspiration only to realize that compared to the life told theirs is less hopeful, less dramatic and therefore less meaningful (in their minds). Inspirational as these non-fiction stories might be, they first raise the reader up with hope only later to dash that hope. And most of the time the reader doesn’t even realize it’s happening. It’s a slow rolling fall down the hill of reality that hits. Most of the non-fiction I have read reminds me of the beauty ads on TV and in magazines. “See what you can become if you just use this product (insert – “do what I did in my life?”).” False advertising in the worst way. Glamourized fall of the hero/ine only to dramatize their rise above such pain and hardships to find self redemption and live a full and meaningful life.
Everyone has his/her own hardships and victories. We should never compare ourselves to someone else. We can all write our own non-fiction book about our life and it would be no different than those who have done it before us. But that’s life people. Ups and downs. Victories and defeats. Why read about someone else’s life when you can live your own right here. Right now.
At least fiction allows you to leave this world for a moment, like a good movie, and dream bigger dreams, step out of reality, take a break from the every day every day.
But, as I always say, I guess that’s just me 🙂
Although the world does seem to want the trash non-fiction feeds them. IMHO that is a sad, sad statement about humanity as a whole…