Most people would describe fiction as a method of escapism. Reading, watching a movie, playing a video game takes us out of our own world and into different one. Let's be honest, the real world isn't always the best place to be. Every person has hardships, and we have different methods of coping. I'm sure it's obvious that mine heavily relies on writing.
Cleaning out some old boxes this weekend uncovered a short story I wrote after my first breakup. A young couple is on their first date when the zombie apocalypse breaks out. It's all very sweet until they are being directly attacked by a horde. The young man throws the girl out of the way to save himself, but ends up dying after all. She is then left to survive on her own. It's admittedly not my best work, written as a freshman in college and still learning a few tricks. But the emotion is so strong in it. Reading just the first pages brought me back to that time when joy shifts into pain within a few split seconds. I will probably never publish that piece though. It would need an immense amount of refining, and I really don't feel inspired by zombies anymore.
My writing has this odd blend of things that I wish that would happen and things that did happen to me. Traces of my friends, family, and people I really can't stand end up in these characters. Thomas and Colby both share some traits with boyfriends, but I never try to completely imitate real people. Then it wouldn't be an escape.
Now, I'm not saying that I feel at home surrounded by dead bodies. I just love the art of deduction and the flair of the past. It can feel so foreign and so welcoming. I wouldn't want to live in a world without the internet, but I wouldn't mind the elaborate dresses and magic.
So I'll throw myself into this world I'm writing. It helps me cope with the real one.
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