In which our heroine is frustratingly honest about her life

And we find no laughter in her sorrow.

When we write fiction, how do we avoid writing our plots around our life? I am desperately fighting the urge to re-write my plot in a very final, disastrous way. Love of your life, fighting injustice together? Fuck it. She doesn't love you anymore. She's found another shinny thing and is done with your simple, boring, messy ways.

It's so hard to be a person right now, let alone write about my complicated, but desperately in-love heroines. This is one of the ways that poetry worked better for me.
Because I could just dig deep. Because the words were just me.

This prose shit is hard. Creating characters and stories outside of yourself is exciting, but it's so hard to make them their own creatures, to not accidentally slip into them.