is this all a lie? a fictional story, someone else’s handwriting — are we really living this tonight?
I had hoped we’d be more than once, had hoped we could solidify our hearts — you’re telling me you can heart the big bang in my heart beat and all I’ve got is a bottle of golden sun
So tell me if we’re lying tonight, because one more time and there’s no more time — a fictional story, can I?
fiction is something that i am not to certain about. what really is really or unreal? it seems that today you can make anything with a solid foundation completely ridiculous and anything ridiculous have a solid foundation. nothing is real or not anymore.
hillary
not real fantasy , the wonders of the mind while you dream. I want to live in a fictional world because this one is is too much. friends are fictional hope and peace
Teresa
I believe it’s fiction that you need to wait for love. It’s fiction that the early bird gets the worm. These two things, I believe, require some sort of action. . . but fuck it, I’m sleeping in.
Fiction is made up. It is usually ridiculous. That last sentence was fiction. Most books are fiction because people want to escape from reality.
catsmeow
There are many fiction novels out there in this world. So many writers and readers are attracted the fiction books. They are fun to read and although most people agree to it to be one of the best sections in reading.
Desiree Duke
Its a look into someone’s imagination, and what they dream of. It’s a break from reality, delving into the what ifs and the perhapses and the maybes. It’s written love, and creativity, and possibility, rather than what is.
Hannah
well this is the second time i’ve written about fiction and i don’t really know what else to write about this word. It kinda reminds me of friction for some reason i don’t really know why but it makes me laugh. hehehe. :)
Life is a work of fiction. We create what we want others to see and know about us, and conceal ourselves behind mask. We become so absorbed in these new personas that we slowly lose our true identity. I say break free from these mask, return to the you of your childhood. Remember what you really loved and who you wanted to be. When I die I want to say I lived for me and I was happy. Not I made everyone else happy and became a shell of myself. If you are going to write a story for life write a good one. Write one with love, happiness, and peace. Don’t forget the pain but let it make you strong not cold, wise not hardened.
Stefania
not real? or is it the real one? I always get this confused with non fiction..for some reason. I think it means not real. maybe i’m just not that smart to know the difference when it comes to what it means.
aimee
I love fiction. LOVE LOVE LOVE IT! I literally can’t get enough of it. Because fiction takes away the pain of my real life. It keeps me distracted by the world around me and sometimes gives me hope that my life could turn out the way my books do. But sadly my days are blase and my life doesn’t get more interesting.
My childhood bookcase; my childhood in general. A Little Princess. Where the Red Fern Grows. The Secret Garden. A section in Borders or Barnes and Noble, with coffee. FUN. Exaggerated tales. Creativity, ingenious imagined lands and worlds for my brain to play in. The name for my daydreams.
Anastasia Ramundo
this is fact not fiction for the first time in years. it is hard to even say what is truly fiction anymore. and branching off of that, what is fact? how can we tell the difference? is there one anymore? it is hard to say whether or not we convince ourselves what is fiction and what truly is…
Sarah
I want to write that I’d finally killed the deeply burrowed feeling. But it’s a lie. No matter how many ways I try to spin it, I know the truth has its own way of being twisted.
Perhaps that’s why I run off when confronted with reality that I’ll have to deal with it again in the future. So the place I took off to was the fiction section of the library. I hung out with books by Bolano, Blevins and Borges whilst I frittered my time waiting for someone I know to leave. And my stupidity is leaving a trail via a confession.
But the juxtaposition was just too good to pass up.
Some of you will read this and think it did not happen. And wonder where I blurred the lines between reality and imagination. You have my assurances that all though I spin stories, in this case I chose to present you with fiction’s mirror twin: non-fiction.
she did not favour to write the truth. Stories of fiction and make believe suited her much more. In fiction, she could tell tales of crow kings and human peasents. Invisible friends existed and imagination was a virtue.
Alicia Smith
Fiction mission: getting a damned pub burger from Webb’s at 11:21pm in this snowy weather-
I’m starving so much, my brain has literally turned to a mush,
Swirling with thoughts of bread, meat, and cheese…
Every piece of fiction is a work of art; whether it be a story or a big, fat lie. You have to work at creating it, even if you’re such a compulsive liar that there is no need to think about it anymore.
Annamarie
If I follow after fiction than I will become fictitious. You are what you behold. If I behold truth, I will become true. If I behold beauty I will become beautiful. If I behold falseness, vanity, worthlessness, I will become false, vain, worthless.
I read historical fiction usually, because I like to learn some facts along with my reading.
Mary Lou Wynegar
Fiction. It’s most difficult in fiction to recreate reality. I know some people who take fiction for granted and think that the only place where you can learn something is from non-fiction. But fiction can represent and convey the ideologies and beliefs of writers just as well as fact. It’s the way some people like to learn about other perspectives, in a fantasy world.
Kate
It’s like your father telling you when you turn 16 that since you were born, he would sneak into your room at night after you fell asleep to suck little hickies where your nipples should be because the painful truth is that you were born without them and all he desired for you is a normal life. It’s stranger than fiction.
Julia
I always thought that I would be a writer. It seemed to almost be a given. Everyone told me I would be, every teacher and professor I had, my parents, my friends. Somewhere along the way my words escaped me. The voice inside me was silenced, a blanket had been thrown over my muse. This is why I am here, to slowly unearth that voice, to discover whether this is what I meant for, to write. I live and breathe words, letters curl across the air as I have a conversation. I spin my own experiences, fact becomes fiction becomes fact again. The lines blur. I can almost hear my muse’s whisper…
It was fiction. What she told me. Her version of it, anyways. It didn’t happen the way she said, but then, it never does.
How could she think it really occurred that way, after all these years? How could she forget? Or maybe she didn’t but just made up her version which she believed was real after all this time.
i like to dream about other possible worlds because sometimes its hard living my own, real one where everything has a consequence- and its not that thats not the case in my fictional worlds but i get to mold what happens to my characters. i have some control over it and its not all left up to fate which is such an incredible feeling. its like playing god and who wouldn’t want to do that?
Sabena
You showed up on my doorstep drunk at 2 A.M., saying I should let you in or you’d break in. Earlier that day, you came over to pick up something your mother mailed me. You went through my phone while I was in the bathroom and found the number of an intern that I work with. Before you showed up, you called him [a motherf*****] while he was on a family ski trip. And when I kicked you out, you refused to take a cab. You wanted to drive. You would risk killing for convenience. So I let you stay, just like you wanted. And when you woke up, you acted surprised that I was upset. I asked you to apologize to the intern, and you told me you shouldn’t have to, that I cared too much about what other people thought. And then you did it, just like I wanted.
When I retold the story, I forgot to be embarrassed. I forgot to make you sound better than you were that night. So, I said, “He’s only crazy when we break up. He’s crazy, because he’s in love.”
Fiction is interesting because it lets you stretch the imagination however you want. It’s also really hard, though, because you have to come up with everything by yourself without making it sound lame.
cornelia
Fiction is a way to reveal the truth about life. It’s a way to escape from reality and go into different worlds. It’s an art form.
Em
It’s not true. Half the things I say. Half of them are all made up in order to sound like I live an interesting life. And maybe I do, but I twist the interesting to make it even more dramatic. I have a flair for the fantastic. My last boyfriend called me a fanatic for the freakish,
You showed up on my doorstep drunk at 2 A.M., saying I should let you in or you’d break in. Earlier that day, you came over to pick up something your mother mailed me. You went through my phone while I was in the bathroom and found the number of an intern that I work with. Before you showed up, you called him [a motherfucker] while he was on a family ski trip. And when I kicked you out, you refused to take a cab. You wanted to drive. You would risk killing for convenience. So I let you stay, just like you wanted. And when you woke up, you acted surprised that I was upset. I asked you to apologize to the intern, and you told me you shouldn’t have to, that I cared too much about what other people thought. And then you did it, just like I wanted.
When I retold the story, I forgot to be embarrassed. I forgot to make you sound better than you were that night. So, I said, “He’s only crazy when we break up. He’s crazy, because he’s in love.”
This life we’re living, its fiction, its not real. How could living in a house where all machines are designed to do all your chores at the slight flick of a switch. No, this was not living. This could not be, or else, this fiction was us, and then, that would mean, we were not real…
Fake, something that you wish was real, but often times wont come true. But even though it is fake, it can be insightful and real in your mind.
Hannah
The thing I enjoy most about fiction is the lovely worlds it can take me to using the sheer power of imagination. Fiction is easily one of my favorite forms of literature, though I have been known to enjoy a good biography or two. My favorite author of fiction is Stephen King, though I quite enjoy the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. In short, I love fiction, and believe when done correctly, can be one of the more enjoyable types of art. Screw documentaries and photography.
Lisa
You were fictional
I made you up
and you just let me pretend
that you were mine.
Funny how after the words dissolved
and you were made so real
(So full of flaws!)
That I still loved you
(I still love you)
neonchandelier
Fiction. What does it mean? Everyone is too busy writing about unicorns and shit to really get down to waht fiction is. I think the true meaning of fiction is when we realize what we want, our dreams, passions, whatever. We put them down on paper. Because to someone its just a story, but to us its what we dream to be preceded with “non.”
Abby
It’s the unreality. And it’s great because you can make up whatever you want. But then again it’s not as great because it isn’t actually real and therefore never quite as good. Boo hoo. Welcome to Who Ville.
Van
Fiction is such a wide thing. There’s realistic fiction – those oft-told stories of pregnant teenage girls, young romance and broken hearts, mysteries, spies, and wars. Then there’s the wider world – science fiction, fantasy, horror. The world of fiction is infinite, and everyone can find something they like.
is this all a lie? a fictional story, someone else’s handwriting — are we really living this tonight?
I had hoped we’d be more than once, had hoped we could solidify our hearts — you’re telling me you can heart the big bang in my heart beat and all I’ve got is a bottle of golden sun
So tell me if we’re lying tonight, because one more time and there’s no more time — a fictional story, can I?
fiction is something that i am not to certain about. what really is really or unreal? it seems that today you can make anything with a solid foundation completely ridiculous and anything ridiculous have a solid foundation. nothing is real or not anymore.
not real fantasy , the wonders of the mind while you dream. I want to live in a fictional world because this one is is too much. friends are fictional hope and peace
I believe it’s fiction that you need to wait for love. It’s fiction that the early bird gets the worm. These two things, I believe, require some sort of action. . . but fuck it, I’m sleeping in.
Fiction is made up. It is usually ridiculous. That last sentence was fiction. Most books are fiction because people want to escape from reality.
There are many fiction novels out there in this world. So many writers and readers are attracted the fiction books. They are fun to read and although most people agree to it to be one of the best sections in reading.
Its a look into someone’s imagination, and what they dream of. It’s a break from reality, delving into the what ifs and the perhapses and the maybes. It’s written love, and creativity, and possibility, rather than what is.
well this is the second time i’ve written about fiction and i don’t really know what else to write about this word. It kinda reminds me of friction for some reason i don’t really know why but it makes me laugh. hehehe. :)
Life is a work of fiction. We create what we want others to see and know about us, and conceal ourselves behind mask. We become so absorbed in these new personas that we slowly lose our true identity. I say break free from these mask, return to the you of your childhood. Remember what you really loved and who you wanted to be. When I die I want to say I lived for me and I was happy. Not I made everyone else happy and became a shell of myself. If you are going to write a story for life write a good one. Write one with love, happiness, and peace. Don’t forget the pain but let it make you strong not cold, wise not hardened.
not real? or is it the real one? I always get this confused with non fiction..for some reason. I think it means not real. maybe i’m just not that smart to know the difference when it comes to what it means.
I love fiction. LOVE LOVE LOVE IT! I literally can’t get enough of it. Because fiction takes away the pain of my real life. It keeps me distracted by the world around me and sometimes gives me hope that my life could turn out the way my books do. But sadly my days are blase and my life doesn’t get more interesting.
1fiction = Foregoing Intuition’s Creative Throw Instigates Omni-probable (N):Variables
fact maybe fiction
pulp fiction
and travolta pimpin.
bible lines quoted,
guns straight up smoking.
shock and amazed at the
needle injection
HEY!
a movie so sweet.
so deliciously neat
at the palms of my feet
watching the band the bloody beets.
My childhood bookcase; my childhood in general. A Little Princess. Where the Red Fern Grows. The Secret Garden. A section in Borders or Barnes and Noble, with coffee. FUN. Exaggerated tales. Creativity, ingenious imagined lands and worlds for my brain to play in. The name for my daydreams.
this is fact not fiction for the first time in years. it is hard to even say what is truly fiction anymore. and branching off of that, what is fact? how can we tell the difference? is there one anymore? it is hard to say whether or not we convince ourselves what is fiction and what truly is…
I want to write that I’d finally killed the deeply burrowed feeling. But it’s a lie. No matter how many ways I try to spin it, I know the truth has its own way of being twisted.
Perhaps that’s why I run off when confronted with reality that I’ll have to deal with it again in the future. So the place I took off to was the fiction section of the library. I hung out with books by Bolano, Blevins and Borges whilst I frittered my time waiting for someone I know to leave. And my stupidity is leaving a trail via a confession.
But the juxtaposition was just too good to pass up.
Some of you will read this and think it did not happen. And wonder where I blurred the lines between reality and imagination. You have my assurances that all though I spin stories, in this case I chose to present you with fiction’s mirror twin: non-fiction.
Life is way stranger than fiction. You just can’t make this shit up.
she did not favour to write the truth. Stories of fiction and make believe suited her much more. In fiction, she could tell tales of crow kings and human peasents. Invisible friends existed and imagination was a virtue.
Fiction mission: getting a damned pub burger from Webb’s at 11:21pm in this snowy weather-
I’m starving so much, my brain has literally turned to a mush,
Swirling with thoughts of bread, meat, and cheese…
Every piece of fiction is a work of art; whether it be a story or a big, fat lie. You have to work at creating it, even if you’re such a compulsive liar that there is no need to think about it anymore.
If I follow after fiction than I will become fictitious. You are what you behold. If I behold truth, I will become true. If I behold beauty I will become beautiful. If I behold falseness, vanity, worthlessness, I will become false, vain, worthless.
I read historical fiction usually, because I like to learn some facts along with my reading.
Fiction. It’s most difficult in fiction to recreate reality. I know some people who take fiction for granted and think that the only place where you can learn something is from non-fiction. But fiction can represent and convey the ideologies and beliefs of writers just as well as fact. It’s the way some people like to learn about other perspectives, in a fantasy world.
It’s like your father telling you when you turn 16 that since you were born, he would sneak into your room at night after you fell asleep to suck little hickies where your nipples should be because the painful truth is that you were born without them and all he desired for you is a normal life. It’s stranger than fiction.
I always thought that I would be a writer. It seemed to almost be a given. Everyone told me I would be, every teacher and professor I had, my parents, my friends. Somewhere along the way my words escaped me. The voice inside me was silenced, a blanket had been thrown over my muse. This is why I am here, to slowly unearth that voice, to discover whether this is what I meant for, to write. I live and breathe words, letters curl across the air as I have a conversation. I spin my own experiences, fact becomes fiction becomes fact again. The lines blur. I can almost hear my muse’s whisper…
It was fiction. What she told me. Her version of it, anyways. It didn’t happen the way she said, but then, it never does.
How could she think it really occurred that way, after all these years? How could she forget? Or maybe she didn’t but just made up her version which she believed was real after all this time.
i like to dream about other possible worlds because sometimes its hard living my own, real one where everything has a consequence- and its not that thats not the case in my fictional worlds but i get to mold what happens to my characters. i have some control over it and its not all left up to fate which is such an incredible feeling. its like playing god and who wouldn’t want to do that?
You showed up on my doorstep drunk at 2 A.M., saying I should let you in or you’d break in. Earlier that day, you came over to pick up something your mother mailed me. You went through my phone while I was in the bathroom and found the number of an intern that I work with. Before you showed up, you called him [a motherf*****] while he was on a family ski trip. And when I kicked you out, you refused to take a cab. You wanted to drive. You would risk killing for convenience. So I let you stay, just like you wanted. And when you woke up, you acted surprised that I was upset. I asked you to apologize to the intern, and you told me you shouldn’t have to, that I cared too much about what other people thought. And then you did it, just like I wanted.
When I retold the story, I forgot to be embarrassed. I forgot to make you sound better than you were that night. So, I said, “He’s only crazy when we break up. He’s crazy, because he’s in love.”
Fiction is interesting because it lets you stretch the imagination however you want. It’s also really hard, though, because you have to come up with everything by yourself without making it sound lame.
Fiction is a way to reveal the truth about life. It’s a way to escape from reality and go into different worlds. It’s an art form.
It’s not true. Half the things I say. Half of them are all made up in order to sound like I live an interesting life. And maybe I do, but I twist the interesting to make it even more dramatic. I have a flair for the fantastic. My last boyfriend called me a fanatic for the freakish,
I wonder if my idea of the future will be proven fictitious, or if it will become my reality?
You showed up on my doorstep drunk at 2 A.M., saying I should let you in or you’d break in. Earlier that day, you came over to pick up something your mother mailed me. You went through my phone while I was in the bathroom and found the number of an intern that I work with. Before you showed up, you called him [a motherfucker] while he was on a family ski trip. And when I kicked you out, you refused to take a cab. You wanted to drive. You would risk killing for convenience. So I let you stay, just like you wanted. And when you woke up, you acted surprised that I was upset. I asked you to apologize to the intern, and you told me you shouldn’t have to, that I cared too much about what other people thought. And then you did it, just like I wanted.
When I retold the story, I forgot to be embarrassed. I forgot to make you sound better than you were that night. So, I said, “He’s only crazy when we break up. He’s crazy, because he’s in love.”
This life we’re living, its fiction, its not real. How could living in a house where all machines are designed to do all your chores at the slight flick of a switch. No, this was not living. This could not be, or else, this fiction was us, and then, that would mean, we were not real…
Fake, something that you wish was real, but often times wont come true. But even though it is fake, it can be insightful and real in your mind.
The thing I enjoy most about fiction is the lovely worlds it can take me to using the sheer power of imagination. Fiction is easily one of my favorite forms of literature, though I have been known to enjoy a good biography or two. My favorite author of fiction is Stephen King, though I quite enjoy the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. In short, I love fiction, and believe when done correctly, can be one of the more enjoyable types of art. Screw documentaries and photography.
You were fictional
I made you up
and you just let me pretend
that you were mine.
Funny how after the words dissolved
and you were made so real
(So full of flaws!)
That I still loved you
(I still love you)
Fiction. What does it mean? Everyone is too busy writing about unicorns and shit to really get down to waht fiction is. I think the true meaning of fiction is when we realize what we want, our dreams, passions, whatever. We put them down on paper. Because to someone its just a story, but to us its what we dream to be preceded with “non.”
It’s the unreality. And it’s great because you can make up whatever you want. But then again it’s not as great because it isn’t actually real and therefore never quite as good. Boo hoo. Welcome to Who Ville.
Fiction is such a wide thing. There’s realistic fiction – those oft-told stories of pregnant teenage girls, young romance and broken hearts, mysteries, spies, and wars. Then there’s the wider world – science fiction, fantasy, horror. The world of fiction is infinite, and everyone can find something they like.