Grazing her hair
leaves me in stuttered despair
I know shell love how i hardly care
of what I say and how I leave her in dare
I walked across closer to dance on
waves with her,
Wake up with me Long Beach!
and smell the precious reasons why
we’re the US city thats a peach in a garden of peas!
I don’t enjoy reading or writing nonfiction. Its too factual, too exact. The kind of reading I need is reading about a fantasy land that was created all by just one person. Just one.
Sachbücher sind schwierig.
Es ist unfassbar spannend, über Dinge zu lesen, die mir fremd sind, aber trotzdem lebe ich für die Abenteuer und wilden Geschichten, die andere mir zwischen den Zeilen erzählen können.
Cwidea
“Merry Christmas!” My best friend yelled as he burst in the door.
“What’d you get me!?” I asked as he handed over a square shaped box. I tore off the wrapping paper and frowned. “You got me a book?”
“Yup! It’s nonfiction too!” I rolled my eyes and put the large book on the table. He suddenly started to crack up. “You really think I got you a book?” He asked in between breathes. He then pulled out a small square shaped box out of his pocket.
“Surprise!” I gasped and then tore off the paper. And that was what sealed the bond…
Enc
The opposite of fiction,I guess.
Nonfiction is sort of bland to be blunt.Maybe it’s just not my style.
But heck,I’ve been stuck on my own head (and probably arse too) to know.
Tra la la
Non fiction is not one of my favorite genres. I usually prefer fiction, because you can get dragons and witches and monsters. Non fiction is good for things you are interested in though.
Nonfiction- is based on real events real people and real facts.
Kaliya
to be realistic
to be true
facts
jayden riley
I grew up poor and I hate charity. When the Christmas hamper arrived, delivered by the mother of a bully classmate, I was so ashamed. Because I was made to feel ashamed, I was also furious.
They came to the door of our house; they could see inside the residence that I kept so hidden from my classmates, even getting off the school bus blocks away from whatever shithole we were staying, so no one would know about my life. But when the church people appeared I realised I was not keeping the secret at all. I could be found; my story was known, I was not keeping my secret at all! As a poor person, I was public property.
At the door, the eyes of strangers pecked around eagerly, collecting data to make them content in their charity. Oh you should see how they live. Oh it is a good deed we have done.
Yes I was hungry but not for lardy peanut butter in a styrofoam container, noodles, cheap meat (when I was young I didn’t eat meat but was told to be thankful and eat it). I didn’t want brands of food I had no idea where they came from. I was hungry for a normal life, normal parents, hungry for pride and hungry to have something interesting to do. I would rather starve than eat food that was shameful because it was disgusting. No one normal would eat disgusting food. No one could make a meal of canned corn and rice. These foods that said I was cheap and basic, and that’s the same thing I could put into my body.
Presumably I had to live to one day make them fast food dinners or hem their clothing, babysit their children. Presumably I had to live because letting the poor live (if not thrive) is a charity act that benefits the giver.
Nowadays, I still hate “charity.” Because so often charity means giving just enough for the giver to feel good, that something has been accomplished. Or worse yet, they walk away happier because of all they have in comparison. I am also against parents dragging their kids to homeless shelters on Thanksgiving or other holidays. First year film students also appear on skid row, to capture the shortcut “grittiness” for a class project, immediate auteurs. It’s not a zoo. You do nothing, so go the fuck away and stay gone.
It does not mean change. It doesn’t mean justice or an easing of the barriers. I never give canned food to food banks. I hate food banks. I hate that people have to line up for rations, be marked and punished for their poverty. I want justice in the form of social programs. We can all fall, so fast and so deep. We can’t stand alone…let’s discuss national childcare, back to work programs that don’t immediately threaten welfare status for people who are precarious and must be transitioned slowly to independence. Let’s bring back jobs we can be proud of, that provide for us. Lets abolish slave labour that is kept just out of sight. This will raise the pride and dignity of all. Clothing ourselves and appointing our homes with comforts should never mean somebody elsewhere as suffered for you.
I want more money for the poor who are unemployable. I want more detox facilities.
I grew up poor, so I will always want more & more. Not for me but for everyone, the basics assigned fairly and without punishment and contempt.
I grew up poor and I hate charity. When the Christmas hamper arrived, delivered by the mother of a bully classmate, I was so ashamed. Because I was made to feel ashamed, I was furious.
They came to the door of our house; they could see inside the residence that I kept so hidden from my classmates, even getting off the school bus blocks away from whatever shithole we were staying, so no one would know about my life. But when the church people appeared I realised I was not keeping the secret at all. I could be found; my story was known, I was not keeping my secret at all! As a poor person, I was public property.
At the door, the eyes of strangers pecked around eagerly, collecting data to make them content in their charity. Oh you should see how they live. Oh it is a good deed we have done.
Yes I was hungry but not for lardy peanut butter in a styrofoam container, noodles, cheap brands of food I had no idea where they came from. I was hungry for a normal life, normal parents, hungry for pride and hungry to have something interesting to do. I would rather starve than eat food that was shameful because it was disgusting. No one normal would eat disgusting food. No one could make a meal of canned corn and rice. These foods that said I was cheap and basic, and that’s the same thing I could put into my body.
Presumably I had to live to one day make them fast food dinners or hem their clothing, babysit their children. Presumably I had to live because letting the poor live (if not thrive) is a charity act that benefits the giver.
Nowadays, I still hate “charity.” Because so often charity means giving just enough for the giver to feel good, that something has been accomplished. Or worse yet, they walk away happier because of all they have in comparison. I am also against parents dragging their kids to homeless shelters on Thanksgiving or other holidays. First year film students also appear on skid row, to capture the shortcut “grittiness” for a class project, immediate auteurs. It’s not a zoo. You do nothing, so go the fuck away and stay gone.
It does not mean change. It doesn’t mean justice or an easing of the barriers. I never give canned food to food banks. I hate food banks. I hate that people have to line up for rations, be marked and punished for their poverty. I want justice in the form of social programs. We can all fall, so fast and so deep. We can’t stand alone…let’s discuss national childcare, back to work programs that don’t immediately threaten welfare status for people who are precarious and must be transitioned slowly to independence. Let’s bring back jobs we can be proud of, that provide for us. Lets abolish slave labour that is kept just out of sight. This will raise the pride and dignity of all. Clothing ourselves and appointing our homes with comforts should never mean somebody elsewhere as suffered for you.
I want more money for the poor who are unemployable. I want more detox facilities.
I grew up poor, so I will always want more & more. Not for me but for everyone, the basics assigned fairly and without punishment and contempt.
prose writing that is based on facts, real events, and real people, such as biography or history.
G'Ameka
a book that is real
a book that tells facts about something
camryn
The idea of cars is Non-Fiction
Jerome Carr
I write a lot of fiction. Nonfiction drives it though. I can’t stand for something to be so fabricated it can’t be real. So my stories are rooted in nonfiction. The characters start off as real people before I bend their destinies to my will. I start in the realm of real before taking off into my dreams and desires.
Reading nonfiction is a good way to learn how to write regular fiction. It can give you understanding of motive, ways to better describe your characters to make them sound more natural, or ways of creating exposition that don’t sound like info dumps. Also – dictionaries count as nonfiction (don’t they?) Use them.
Does God give notification before each and every prominent events in our life? Then, why do we humans try to prepare ourselves so much for each and everything, rather than just living in the moment? Stupid us!
Akshatha Prabhu
Just correcting the idiots of the world. Fiction means FAKE, taken from imagination and not based on facts. Nonfiction is NOT FAKE. I won 100 dollars each from two co-workers that were sure the opposite was true. Use a dictionary website for humanity’s sake or several since taking from a single source is a foolish practice. Everything you can imagine is not real. Teleporting, time-travel, warp-speed, humans that become god-powered from a nuclear accident, none of these have happened or are slightly close to being reality. If that’s not exciting enough to WANT to believe in, tough tits, stop being dupes and accept facts. Enjoy fantasies as fun escapes from reality that they are, and not a substitutes or you will be screwed-over much more often in life.
The Factistician
I enjoyed Preethi’s Shenoy nonfiction books so much that I wish to write one in my late 30’s.
Amritha
non fiction means the story written by the day to day following of the incidents around us. SOmetimes we see while commuting or some people around us that inspire us to write and note down thier lifes
I can see the timer is running. This is a much better way to take this out. Although that should have said type this out. Not take this out. Daisy is sleeping behind my head and I can hear her breathing . I thought the minute was up but not he’s in his room I just took that as a Dominican by already. And then it last a long time. Should have said a minute but not then it hits over
Teri
The thing that kills her every night is the fact that her life is no made up drama. It’s not a book, it’s not a dream. This is what causes her to gush out tears uncontrollably. It’s what ceases her ability to breathe.
Maddy
My friend Bree just got admitted into CU’s MFA program for nonfiction. Like, she just told me that today. So, the fact that this is the word of the day seems coincidental. We went to the Sink for drinks before our Dialogue across Difference class. She drank this drink. Screwdriver with grenadine. I had never tried that before today. It was super yum. If only my body could properly process hard liquor, I would order it all of the time. I hope she ends up teaching nonfiction as a professor. She’d be amazing at it.
Ashley
We conduct our lives in disguise
Acting out or telling lies
Crafting stories of how we’d like things to be
Truth crucifixion
Unrecognizable if we live nonfiction
poetwarrior
I think the whole world has been captured in my grandfather’s mind, from his squashy armchair before the fire with his hand-made wooden bookstand and oversized reading glasses.
I didn’t register the day go by- how did I get here? I blink as if this is the first time I’m opening my eyes. Maybe it is. Suddenly aware of the breeze, I shiver, although if I glanced at a clock, it would tell me I’d been sitting here far too long. Time to go home? I replace the ear buds that had taken its own special effort to remove. Immediately ripped from myself, I blink again and the scenery changes. A heart-felt wail in my ears, it is now my heart. And upbeat techno pounding- suddenly my feet move in tandem to the pounding rhythm.
A bit of scenery guilts me into appreciating it, so once more I slowly remove myself from emotions I can express and describe and make my own, push myself to take control, and to take a look at the reality that surrounds me, the one I try to slip though I am an observer and not an active participant. The sounds around me are gentle and natural…. far too real, trying to invade my mind with a force louder than any bass line. Can the voices in my headphones not speak for me instead? A deep breath nearly brings me to my knees, stopped dead on the pavement, the sound of crunching leaves no longer stalking me. The real world is too flexible for a song stuck on repeat, with the same thoughts and solutions in the same tones- it is not a story I relate to, it is one I write.
The books you would read in the library that you can’t take out. That is what I would think of if you said the word “Nonfiction.” I want to become a doctor because of these books. So these books are the reason I am who I am.
Anna
the nonfiction version
of this persian, is a dispersion among newfound eversions
left to the right, right to left,
dances steps i take,
narrative songs I mistake
for life thrills
everybody has the same stresses
money, bills, and our next thrills
just chill
and live the fictious nonfiction joy in life there stands.
I was never so good at nonfiction
cause my tongue gets tangled with diction
I prefer telling tales
that cause laughter in gales
and wont end in my crucifixion :)
Valerian
Nonfiction is the only thing that keeps wild grasslands, beautiful oceans, majestic trees, all of it, close to us in the greywashed suburbs and the dank and grimy city streets and even all the way back in the tiny red hut surrounded nothing but yellow grass and the sky above their heads. Thank god for it. It keeps us alive when nowhere else will.
Ellie
Nonfiction does not exist, we are all living inside our own personal illusion. What is reality? Who knows what the truth is? Fiction surrounds us. It covers us like a warm blanket in a cold, December night. We’re comfortable with it. We need it. We need fiction, it defines us.
Ana Paula Salazar
My life is too real to be fiction. My pain is real…my disappointment after every doctor visit is real. Nonfiction is just another, non-threatening word, for reality: the good, the bad and the ugly.
Keine Fiktion. Das pure Leben. In mehreren Schichten. Wenn ich nur tief genug in die Schichten reingehe, brauche ich keine Fiktion mehr. Das Leben ist Fiktion. Wenn ich schreibe, entdecke ich, dass es noch ganz andere Ebenen gibt, die ich normalerweise gar nicht wahrnehme. Die mir verschlossen bleiben. Aber jegtzt nicht mehr. Jetzt werde ich sie sehen, hören, spüren.
I always wanted to be a nonfiction writer
Not a journalist,
everything is nonfiction
everything is a story
we all think in abstract and symbolism
shapes and colors and concepts
nonfiction is not lack of imagination
it is part of human interpretation
Bella
One student was writing nonfiction in a journal; another was planning a science fiction thriller. Two worked together on a fantasy escapade with dragons and dwarves galore – and swords! And spells! Lots of spells. Even the student with the lowest grade was scribbling away in her notebook, as ideas for a mystery novel bloomed on the paper like graphite flowers.
Belinda Roddie
There is no such thing as nonfiction.
Somewhere, everything has happened.
Perhaps not here,
But somewhere.
Grazing her hair
leaves me in stuttered despair
I know shell love how i hardly care
of what I say and how I leave her in dare
I walked across closer to dance on
waves with her,
Wake up with me Long Beach!
and smell the precious reasons why
we’re the US city thats a peach in a garden of peas!
I don’t enjoy reading or writing nonfiction. Its too factual, too exact. The kind of reading I need is reading about a fantasy land that was created all by just one person. Just one.
Sachbücher sind schwierig.
Es ist unfassbar spannend, über Dinge zu lesen, die mir fremd sind, aber trotzdem lebe ich für die Abenteuer und wilden Geschichten, die andere mir zwischen den Zeilen erzählen können.
“Merry Christmas!” My best friend yelled as he burst in the door.
“What’d you get me!?” I asked as he handed over a square shaped box. I tore off the wrapping paper and frowned. “You got me a book?”
“Yup! It’s nonfiction too!” I rolled my eyes and put the large book on the table. He suddenly started to crack up. “You really think I got you a book?” He asked in between breathes. He then pulled out a small square shaped box out of his pocket.
“Surprise!” I gasped and then tore off the paper. And that was what sealed the bond…
The opposite of fiction,I guess.
Nonfiction is sort of bland to be blunt.Maybe it’s just not my style.
But heck,I’ve been stuck on my own head (and probably arse too) to know.
Non fiction is not one of my favorite genres. I usually prefer fiction, because you can get dragons and witches and monsters. Non fiction is good for things you are interested in though.
Nonfiction- is based on real events real people and real facts.
to be realistic
to be true
facts
I grew up poor and I hate charity. When the Christmas hamper arrived, delivered by the mother of a bully classmate, I was so ashamed. Because I was made to feel ashamed, I was also furious.
They came to the door of our house; they could see inside the residence that I kept so hidden from my classmates, even getting off the school bus blocks away from whatever shithole we were staying, so no one would know about my life. But when the church people appeared I realised I was not keeping the secret at all. I could be found; my story was known, I was not keeping my secret at all! As a poor person, I was public property.
At the door, the eyes of strangers pecked around eagerly, collecting data to make them content in their charity. Oh you should see how they live. Oh it is a good deed we have done.
Yes I was hungry but not for lardy peanut butter in a styrofoam container, noodles, cheap meat (when I was young I didn’t eat meat but was told to be thankful and eat it). I didn’t want brands of food I had no idea where they came from. I was hungry for a normal life, normal parents, hungry for pride and hungry to have something interesting to do. I would rather starve than eat food that was shameful because it was disgusting. No one normal would eat disgusting food. No one could make a meal of canned corn and rice. These foods that said I was cheap and basic, and that’s the same thing I could put into my body.
Presumably I had to live to one day make them fast food dinners or hem their clothing, babysit their children. Presumably I had to live because letting the poor live (if not thrive) is a charity act that benefits the giver.
Nowadays, I still hate “charity.” Because so often charity means giving just enough for the giver to feel good, that something has been accomplished. Or worse yet, they walk away happier because of all they have in comparison. I am also against parents dragging their kids to homeless shelters on Thanksgiving or other holidays. First year film students also appear on skid row, to capture the shortcut “grittiness” for a class project, immediate auteurs. It’s not a zoo. You do nothing, so go the fuck away and stay gone.
It does not mean change. It doesn’t mean justice or an easing of the barriers. I never give canned food to food banks. I hate food banks. I hate that people have to line up for rations, be marked and punished for their poverty. I want justice in the form of social programs. We can all fall, so fast and so deep. We can’t stand alone…let’s discuss national childcare, back to work programs that don’t immediately threaten welfare status for people who are precarious and must be transitioned slowly to independence. Let’s bring back jobs we can be proud of, that provide for us. Lets abolish slave labour that is kept just out of sight. This will raise the pride and dignity of all. Clothing ourselves and appointing our homes with comforts should never mean somebody elsewhere as suffered for you.
I want more money for the poor who are unemployable. I want more detox facilities.
I grew up poor, so I will always want more & more. Not for me but for everyone, the basics assigned fairly and without punishment and contempt.
This is non-fiction. It will exceed one minute.
I grew up poor and I hate charity. When the Christmas hamper arrived, delivered by the mother of a bully classmate, I was so ashamed. Because I was made to feel ashamed, I was furious.
They came to the door of our house; they could see inside the residence that I kept so hidden from my classmates, even getting off the school bus blocks away from whatever shithole we were staying, so no one would know about my life. But when the church people appeared I realised I was not keeping the secret at all. I could be found; my story was known, I was not keeping my secret at all! As a poor person, I was public property.
At the door, the eyes of strangers pecked around eagerly, collecting data to make them content in their charity. Oh you should see how they live. Oh it is a good deed we have done.
Yes I was hungry but not for lardy peanut butter in a styrofoam container, noodles, cheap brands of food I had no idea where they came from. I was hungry for a normal life, normal parents, hungry for pride and hungry to have something interesting to do. I would rather starve than eat food that was shameful because it was disgusting. No one normal would eat disgusting food. No one could make a meal of canned corn and rice. These foods that said I was cheap and basic, and that’s the same thing I could put into my body.
Presumably I had to live to one day make them fast food dinners or hem their clothing, babysit their children. Presumably I had to live because letting the poor live (if not thrive) is a charity act that benefits the giver.
Nowadays, I still hate “charity.” Because so often charity means giving just enough for the giver to feel good, that something has been accomplished. Or worse yet, they walk away happier because of all they have in comparison. I am also against parents dragging their kids to homeless shelters on Thanksgiving or other holidays. First year film students also appear on skid row, to capture the shortcut “grittiness” for a class project, immediate auteurs. It’s not a zoo. You do nothing, so go the fuck away and stay gone.
It does not mean change. It doesn’t mean justice or an easing of the barriers. I never give canned food to food banks. I hate food banks. I hate that people have to line up for rations, be marked and punished for their poverty. I want justice in the form of social programs. We can all fall, so fast and so deep. We can’t stand alone…let’s discuss national childcare, back to work programs that don’t immediately threaten welfare status for people who are precarious and must be transitioned slowly to independence. Let’s bring back jobs we can be proud of, that provide for us. Lets abolish slave labour that is kept just out of sight. This will raise the pride and dignity of all. Clothing ourselves and appointing our homes with comforts should never mean somebody elsewhere as suffered for you.
I want more money for the poor who are unemployable. I want more detox facilities.
I grew up poor, so I will always want more & more. Not for me but for everyone, the basics assigned fairly and without punishment and contempt.
prose writing that is based on facts, real events, and real people, such as biography or history.
a book that is real
a book that tells facts about something
The idea of cars is Non-Fiction
I write a lot of fiction. Nonfiction drives it though. I can’t stand for something to be so fabricated it can’t be real. So my stories are rooted in nonfiction. The characters start off as real people before I bend their destinies to my will. I start in the realm of real before taking off into my dreams and desires.
Reading nonfiction is a good way to learn how to write regular fiction. It can give you understanding of motive, ways to better describe your characters to make them sound more natural, or ways of creating exposition that don’t sound like info dumps. Also – dictionaries count as nonfiction (don’t they?) Use them.
The nonfiction section smelled even mustier than the rest of the library. Lisa wasn’t convinced any one went back here anymore.
Only that which does not have a beginning or end is non-fiction as it exists.
Everything else is fiction.
A story told by God.
Does God give notification before each and every prominent events in our life? Then, why do we humans try to prepare ourselves so much for each and everything, rather than just living in the moment? Stupid us!
Just correcting the idiots of the world. Fiction means FAKE, taken from imagination and not based on facts. Nonfiction is NOT FAKE. I won 100 dollars each from two co-workers that were sure the opposite was true. Use a dictionary website for humanity’s sake or several since taking from a single source is a foolish practice. Everything you can imagine is not real. Teleporting, time-travel, warp-speed, humans that become god-powered from a nuclear accident, none of these have happened or are slightly close to being reality. If that’s not exciting enough to WANT to believe in, tough tits, stop being dupes and accept facts. Enjoy fantasies as fun escapes from reality that they are, and not a substitutes or you will be screwed-over much more often in life.
I enjoyed Preethi’s Shenoy nonfiction books so much that I wish to write one in my late 30’s.
non fiction means the story written by the day to day following of the incidents around us. SOmetimes we see while commuting or some people around us that inspire us to write and note down thier lifes
Something which is real and not imaginary.
I can see the timer is running. This is a much better way to take this out. Although that should have said type this out. Not take this out. Daisy is sleeping behind my head and I can hear her breathing . I thought the minute was up but not he’s in his room I just took that as a Dominican by already. And then it last a long time. Should have said a minute but not then it hits over
The thing that kills her every night is the fact that her life is no made up drama. It’s not a book, it’s not a dream. This is what causes her to gush out tears uncontrollably. It’s what ceases her ability to breathe.
My friend Bree just got admitted into CU’s MFA program for nonfiction. Like, she just told me that today. So, the fact that this is the word of the day seems coincidental. We went to the Sink for drinks before our Dialogue across Difference class. She drank this drink. Screwdriver with grenadine. I had never tried that before today. It was super yum. If only my body could properly process hard liquor, I would order it all of the time. I hope she ends up teaching nonfiction as a professor. She’d be amazing at it.
We conduct our lives in disguise
Acting out or telling lies
Crafting stories of how we’d like things to be
Truth crucifixion
Unrecognizable if we live nonfiction
I think the whole world has been captured in my grandfather’s mind, from his squashy armchair before the fire with his hand-made wooden bookstand and oversized reading glasses.
I didn’t register the day go by- how did I get here? I blink as if this is the first time I’m opening my eyes. Maybe it is. Suddenly aware of the breeze, I shiver, although if I glanced at a clock, it would tell me I’d been sitting here far too long. Time to go home? I replace the ear buds that had taken its own special effort to remove. Immediately ripped from myself, I blink again and the scenery changes. A heart-felt wail in my ears, it is now my heart. And upbeat techno pounding- suddenly my feet move in tandem to the pounding rhythm.
A bit of scenery guilts me into appreciating it, so once more I slowly remove myself from emotions I can express and describe and make my own, push myself to take control, and to take a look at the reality that surrounds me, the one I try to slip though I am an observer and not an active participant. The sounds around me are gentle and natural…. far too real, trying to invade my mind with a force louder than any bass line. Can the voices in my headphones not speak for me instead? A deep breath nearly brings me to my knees, stopped dead on the pavement, the sound of crunching leaves no longer stalking me. The real world is too flexible for a song stuck on repeat, with the same thoughts and solutions in the same tones- it is not a story I relate to, it is one I write.
The books you would read in the library that you can’t take out. That is what I would think of if you said the word “Nonfiction.” I want to become a doctor because of these books. So these books are the reason I am who I am.
the nonfiction version
of this persian, is a dispersion among newfound eversions
left to the right, right to left,
dances steps i take,
narrative songs I mistake
for life thrills
everybody has the same stresses
money, bills, and our next thrills
just chill
and live the fictious nonfiction joy in life there stands.
I was never so good at nonfiction
cause my tongue gets tangled with diction
I prefer telling tales
that cause laughter in gales
and wont end in my crucifixion :)
Nonfiction is the only thing that keeps wild grasslands, beautiful oceans, majestic trees, all of it, close to us in the greywashed suburbs and the dank and grimy city streets and even all the way back in the tiny red hut surrounded nothing but yellow grass and the sky above their heads. Thank god for it. It keeps us alive when nowhere else will.
Nonfiction does not exist, we are all living inside our own personal illusion. What is reality? Who knows what the truth is? Fiction surrounds us. It covers us like a warm blanket in a cold, December night. We’re comfortable with it. We need it. We need fiction, it defines us.
My life is too real to be fiction. My pain is real…my disappointment after every doctor visit is real. Nonfiction is just another, non-threatening word, for reality: the good, the bad and the ugly.
life
became
30 minute increments
of what needs to be
what is, and isn’t
always another call
or payment
or chore
left all for me-
Saturn’s whore
Keine Fiktion. Das pure Leben. In mehreren Schichten. Wenn ich nur tief genug in die Schichten reingehe, brauche ich keine Fiktion mehr. Das Leben ist Fiktion. Wenn ich schreibe, entdecke ich, dass es noch ganz andere Ebenen gibt, die ich normalerweise gar nicht wahrnehme. Die mir verschlossen bleiben. Aber jegtzt nicht mehr. Jetzt werde ich sie sehen, hören, spüren.
I always wanted to be a nonfiction writer
Not a journalist,
everything is nonfiction
everything is a story
we all think in abstract and symbolism
shapes and colors and concepts
nonfiction is not lack of imagination
it is part of human interpretation
One student was writing nonfiction in a journal; another was planning a science fiction thriller. Two worked together on a fantasy escapade with dragons and dwarves galore – and swords! And spells! Lots of spells. Even the student with the lowest grade was scribbling away in her notebook, as ideas for a mystery novel bloomed on the paper like graphite flowers.
There is no such thing as nonfiction.
Somewhere, everything has happened.
Perhaps not here,
But somewhere.
Fiction is reality,
And nonfiction is deceptive.
Artfully arranged lies; at best, wishful thinking.