Too Close for Comfort #TrueStory #Adultery #Erotica

 

A post by Giselle Renarde.

Lately, I've been devoting a lot of my time to creating audio versions of my books.

Until this fall, when I bought myself a tablet (which I refer to as my "tip calculator" because I have no idea how to use it), I would record audio by reading from hard copies of my works.

But there's one book, in particular, that kept getting pushed aside.

I'd pick it up. I'd look at the table of contents. I'd flip to a story of particular interest and I'd read a paragraph or two. My words--words I wrote more than a decade ago--hit me in the heart. Like a punch.

They're too real. They're too true. I can't say these words out loud.

The book I'm talking about is Audrey and Lawrence, my collection of short stories inspired by the relationship I had with a married man. The stories aren't true--not strictly speaking. Well, some come pretty close, but most are completely made up.

The emotions expressed in those stories? The emotions are true. They're probably truer than anything else I've written. That book is my heart on the page. I can't get away from that. How can I tell those stories out loud? How can I say the words all these years later?

Audrey is not the most flattering depiction of me, but it is an honest portrayal. I hope I'm not so much like her now. I hope I'm a little less needy and a lot less jealous. I'd like to think that's the case. But reading those stories reminds me of my faults--of my character flaws and my missteps.

A lot of people from the romance world hate me because I write about adultery. And not just readers--authors too! I understand that they're not fond of cheating, but I'm not a romantic. Nothing I write is really romance. You aren't safe with my work. It's not safe. I'm not safe.

My reputation precedes me, and not just online. One time I was hired for a job only to discover that my boss went to school with my ex. I guess he did a little digging, asked around a bit, and discovered my true colours. After that, he started warning all the married men in his employ to steer clear of me.

I was a bad girl. I couldn't be trusted.

It was really such a shame, you know. I loved that job.

Anyway, here I am, many years later, wondering if this post is starting to sound like a cautionary tale. It's not. At least, it wasn't intended that way.

I just started re-reading Tristan Taormino's Opening Up and, as much as I now strive to live my life with honesty and integrity, I understand why people lie. I understand why people cheat. I've lived that life. Honesty is easier and even less hurtful, in the long run, but we cheat out of fear. Fear of loss. Fear of hurting those we love. Fear of admitting what it means when we love more than one person. Fear of opening up.

What fear is holding me back? Why can't I bring myself to create the audio version of Audrey and Lawrence? After all this time, why can't I say the words out loud?

Am I too scared to tap in to my inner Audrey? Am I too scared that she's still me?

The reality within the fiction ...

As we discovered last week, and over the course of a few other posts, I am not that adventurous of a person.

So I kind of get a kick out of people's reactions when they find out what I write. Some people who have known me for years start to get a look in their eyes when they look at me after finding out. Almost like they expect me to have a closet full of leather and lace, and a toy chest full of B.O.B.s Others, those who actually stop and reflect over some of the conversations we have had, know that I haven't done all that I have written about.

The university I went to before moving to where I am now (I tranferred because the university sucked!) had a "guest author/lecturer" and my composition 2 professor and I used to sit and laugh about the man's lack of brains. Because the guest lecturer was a local author, and an alumni, he was treated like a veriable literary god. (His book, in short, was a wall banger of the first order!)

During our freshman orientation, we were given a copy of his book and instructed to read it. Our assignments were based around the book, from learning to use the library to find crap from the book, to other such piddle. (Um, it's no wonder he had such a good Amazon sales rank - with 250+ copies per semester being ordered by the campus).

One of our assignments was to write a review of his book, and since at the time I was doing prefessional reviews, I refused. I wasn't about to risk my grade by writing my true thoughts, and I wasn't about to lend any credibility to the pile of drivel that he passed off as a book.

But back to the point of this post ... my professor and I had a long talk one evening about truth in fiction. The guest author/lecturer actually made a point of saying in one of his lectures to write what you know, and not to push too much beyond that because you start to lose credibility. (Keep in mind, he was not talking about writing non-fiction).

Um ... WTF?!?!?!

Yeah, King is really a homicidal whatever (depending on the book), Patterson tracks down criminals for a living, and Rice used to dance with vampires. Oh, and let's not forget all those writers who have lived on other planets and battled in space! Yep ... they are writing what they know.

Then again, having read the book, which was set in the Appalachian Mts in a small town, and had tons of taboo issues as well as completely flat characters, I can see where he might have been writing from reality. Flat life = flat writing.

My professor and I laughed and laughed about that, because while some truth can and does often shine through in a true writer's stories, they are more vivid and real for their fantasy. Regardless of genre. Imagination sparks the truth of a writer more than life experience. Anyone can have grand adventures ... but not everyone can transport another into the moment.

So while there are some stories of mine that have kernels of truth in them, they are the exceptions, not the rule. But the reactions I get from people can be entertaining. : )

As for whether or not I have a toychest filled with B.O.B.s ... well, I guess that is for another topic.