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Read My New First Chapter?

28 November 2014

Those of you who have been around here for a while may remember when I uploaded the first couple chapters to my last complete project, "A Season in Summerton." And those of you who have been around more recently may have seen me expresses my exasperation at making that story a success, and how I'm trying to modernize the same tale. Well, I'm finally making progress! Your encouragement and support through these last few months of sparse blogging has been incredibly valuable, and it would make my day if y'all would peruse the new, and I'd like to think improved, first chapter of "A Season in Summerton." Please PLEASE leave your honest thoughts and comments below. I cannot improve without criticism, and I really do care about what y'all think. Thank you for your time and happy reading!




There hasn’t been a good looking or worthwhile guy seen in Summerton in over ten years. Of course, available men have passed through before, but none of them made me suddenly forget how to speak and/or form coherent thoughts, a raging epidemic I have had the guilty pleasure of seeing many of my friends fall prey to. But it’s not like I have their heads turning or anything. When it comes to the game of man catching, I certainly have my work cut out for me. For example last spring, a decent blonde bachelor with a well-to-do family settled in Summerton, and Cecilia Carmichael had him thoroughly secured in her clutches before you could say, “don’t throw yourself so hard at the men, you might trip and crack your face.”
Don’t ask me how.
The fact that Cecilia’s face might have been carved by angels might have had something to do with it, yet I prefer to think he saw something more in her than a pretty face. Her prospective inheritance laid away by her Mr. CEO father who I’m convinced hasn’t been seen wearing anything other than a suit since he was potty trained, could also have been what induced the new kid to propose to Cecilia at her high school graduation. It wasn’t like the boy was desperate. Just hours after his arrival he was awarded the secret and illustrious nickname of, “the local hottie,” and he had captured the interest of all the single females within ten square miles…which is all the females within ten square miles.
Yet I digress.
Where was I? Ah yes, the unconventional proposal. Even though I had been fairly expecting an equally moronic stunt, even I the cynical life-meddler did not foresee such a public popping of the question. For the rest of the summer nothing was spoken of but the cancelled wedding. Cecilia’s mother managed to assemble the ceremony of the century even on short notice and the local church was so swallowed up in decorations that we could scarcely find the front door. My attendance was strictly formal and by formal I mean that mother forced me to go after she reminded with teary eyes and a series of nostalgic nose blows how Cecilia and I had once sang a duet together in an elementary school performance.
Though I nodded as my mother relived that night in all its childish beautym the only part of that evening I remember was when Cecilia “accidentally” sang my final crescendo note for me. Such a tease, that Cecilia. Always accidentally stealing other people’s moments. Despite all that, I was eager to see how the wedding would play out for I had never attended one which had been formed under such adversely ridiculous circumstances. I had to stop myself from smiling when my predictions came true and the money grubbing suitor, whom shall remain nameless, made no appearance at the altar other than to publicly proclaim that he had made a mistake.
Gasps resonated through the small, historical chapel and I scrutinized the scene with sharp eyes that the unfortunately hysterical moment would never fade from my memory. That dude fled from the church and was never seen or heard from again, although he narrowly escaped a beating from Mr. Carmichael’s crew of body guards and a heel to the head which was weakly although passionately thrown from the sweaty palm of Mrs. Carmichael. The ultimate crown to the moment, however, was when the back of his suit jacket closed with the door on his way out, and we saw it suddenly vanish through the crack as he screamed in terror. Cecilia crumpled up into a pathetic little heap on the altar steps and I might have felt more sorry for her were it not for the Vera Wang veil surrounding her sobbing, trembling face. All I could think to myself was, “You could have fed a third world village with the cost of that veil…or had another cake at the reception. The choice is yours but I think you made a poor one.”
To a certain extent she resembled an over-glorified baby whose crying face shamed the extravagant dress on its body. She mourned like a proper widow for days, however, a leisurely getaway in Vegas with some of her cousins restored her even faster than the engagement had been made. She came back looking perhaps not quite as fresh faced as before, but certainly more rosy-cheeked.
            Despite past scandals, the prospect of a new single guy coming to town continues to create a hub amongst the female population. As such, when my best friend Katie Pearce came to report the arrival of Charles Turner, I, though excited, did not dare to hope for my own success.
It could be easily concluded from Katie’s description of his pretty face and even prettier family fortune that brazen flirting from every single woman within sight, would soon ensue. Our small town dates back to over one hundred years ago and lies where all the dreams which once existed gloriously in their dreamer’s imagination until they lost hope and deserted the notion: in East Texas.
The set apart atmosphere encouraged families to stick around for far longer than they were wanted and, consequently, we children have grown up together. And that’s really just a charming way of saying that we have dirt on everyone and are more familiar with the same group of people than we would prefer to be. Even though our mothers continue to conspire and speculate in secret, we all have given up hope of finding any worthwhile partner in Summerton. Even nosy Ms. Baines who knows the darkest secrets of everyone and their great grandmother, has given up home of match-making the youth of Summerton with one another.
            “Soooo….is he nice?” I asked, after Katie interrupted my study session under my favorite maple tree to enter into a ten minute pitch on why this guy who I have never met is the best thing to happen to this town to date.
            “Well, uh…” she laughed and I rolled my eyes, feeling fairly certain of what her giggles foreshadowed. “I haven’t exactly met him yet. Though I caught a glimpse of him whenever he was helping the movers unload the trucks in front of their house. They picked that old, abandoned one on Orchard Street you know, they want to fix it up. Anyhow, he had a pleasing smile and welcoming eyes…I think you and he would make a divine pair.”
            “Nonsense,” I scoffed, slamming my textbook shut and rather gratefully resigned to an afternoon of gossiping rather than studying. “If Cecilia Carmichael doesn’t have him irrevocably in love with her before I have a chance to meet him, you will.”
            “Of course I could make him fall madly in love with me.” Said she, with a wink and playful toss of the head. “But so could you, I would warrant. You always get on so well with the guys.”
            “That’s just my problem. Boys don’t look among their buddies for romance, that I have learned the hard way. No, this time around I intend to try something new.”
            “Oh?” Katie questioned with an upward flick of her dark, pointed brows. “I hope you don’t intend to snub all of us and everything you once adored for mere attention.”
            “Hardly! And whatever I do shall not be in the sheer pursuit of amusement alone. I have designed a social experiment, and Charles Turner sounds like just the proper proponent for my equation.”
            “And this ‘experiment’ as you put it is highly scientific, I am sure?”
            We both smiled.
            “You know I would work with nothing other than the latest and finest developments of science.”
            “But honestly Sofie,” she continued, “What do you intend to change? I’ve always relied on you being instable when it comes to consistency. I don’t know how I could cope with the thought of your every move and thought being intended.”
            “Now,” I reverently closed my eyes and shook back my auburn hair. “This change is not to take place around old friends like you. I merely mean to present myself differently to those whom I am meeting for the first time.”
            Katie slowly nodded, as though attempting to understand. My pink lips twitched when I suppressed a smile. “You, and I daresay everyone in town considers me to be, what we shall label as…bold.”
            “Outspoken,” Katie continued, touching the tips of her fingers as though counting. “Giggly,”
            “Yes.”
            “Unconventional.”
            “Agreed.”
            “Prone to clumsiness,”
            “Alright, I get the idea.” I laughed. “But I mean to act completely different. No more of my uncalled for although hilarious monologues, or frequent bursts of laughter.”
            “It won’t be easy for you.”
            “I know.” For some reason that prospect only made me smile all the more. As I faced the setting sun which lowered behind the town square, I took my most heroic stance and stared determinedly with my hands placed firmly on my hips. “But that is what will make it a challenge. I’ve always longed to be one of those soft-spoken, doe-eyed kind of girls who seem to swiftly obtain the attention of whomever they place their affections upon.”
            “Well not all guys prefer the same type. What if Charlie or some other boy comes along who would prefer your true personality?”
            Raising one eyebrow I stared her down, and Katie’s luminous blue eyes danced in return. “Seeing as I’m eighteen years old and that still hasn’t happened, I doubt it will. I’m not feminine enough for most guys and it’s time I started acting my age regardless.”
            Observing the sun which swung low in the sky, we joined arms and started walking towards my house. A delicious breeze swirled through Arthur Goodall’s peach orchard and saturated our lungs with the fragrance of summer. Lush grass mushing beneath my bare feet proved to be one of those delightful sensations that never loses its charm, despite the passing years. When we reached my wrap-around front porch or the “veranda” as my grandmother continues to call it, I said, “I’d invite you to stay over for dinner, but mom has already invited guests.”
            “Who?”
            No question is rude with old friends.
            “The Bromwells.” I rolled the name off my tongue like a bratty child being forced to apologize.
            Katie nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. “Yes, I have heard of their daughter Penny.”
            “Have you heard that she is nauseatingly giddy in addition to being quite the impressive flirt?”
            “Rumors have circulated. But they only moved her a few weeks ago, so I would not consider local gossip reliable.”
            “I’ll try to give her a chance to prove herself,” I huffed as though granting someone the liberty of a first impression was really stretching my limits. “But if what I’ve heard turns out to be true, this will not be an enjoyable meal.”
            Katie smiled and turned her feet like she was saying goodbye when she suddenly smiled and said, “The Turners, and now the Bromwells. Isn’t it weird?”
            “Isn’t what weird?” I yawned.
            “It’s been ages since anybody new has come to Summerton. I hope they turn out to be likeable people.”
            Patting her arm I replied, “That’s all we can really hope for, I suppose. Though I feel I’m not as excited by the prospect of a new “bachelor” as I should be.”
            “You never have been the giddy type.” She said, half admiringly, half reproachfully.
“I’m expecting you to keep me in line whenever we meet him.”
            “I will be the very model of sophistication, that you might mimic my graceful manners.” Like a pudgy ballerina I began dizzily twirling towards the front door as though dancing for an imaginary crowd.
            When Katie caught her laugher she wheezed, “Oh Sofie, the day when you are graceful and charming will be a far more headlining occasion that a good looking guy moving to town.”

            Our laugher rang and molded together like a familiar harmony. When it faded beyond the birdsong and rustling leaves she said, “I’ll see you later. Good luck with the dinner tonight.”      I closed one eye, stuck out my tongue, and made a gagging sound while pointing to my open mouth before walking inside where mom was frantically flying around the living room, fluffing pillows and demanding the food in the oven not to burn. 

I Don't Know What To Write Anymore

19 November 2014

I used to write every day. I had a clear direction and concrete ideas...I knew what I was doing and everyday I would strive towards my goal. Yet now...I don't know what to write anymore. After completing my second novel which I was so proud of and realizing that the subject and setting weren't what today's publishers are looking for, I kind of lost direction. I'm still invested in that story and right now I have the idea to modernize it but it's so difficult to start again from scratch when I haven't been writing consistently in months. All the worries of senior year have been taking up so much of my time that it seems I don't have time to write anymore. But what's worse is that I don't know what to write because I don't have the same clear direction and ideas as I used to.

Have you ever felt this way? What do you do when you lose passion, or inspiration, or things don't go according to plan? Maybe I should start a new project, a different project that isn't writing a full-fledged book. I know that I have what it takes to succeed and be a writer, but it's never been so hard to get started.

I don't what to write anymore...what should I do?

Writing About People You Know

02 November 2014

Oh, the constant struggle. It's tempting, satisfying, terrifying, and deliciously exciting all at the same time. I'm not sure that there is a convincing argument on either side of whether it's a good idea or not to write about people you know. All I can say is, you never know until you try and in my personal experience...it's been awesome. Of course, none of my works have been published yet, and that may very well have something to do with it. But as someone who always writes with publication in mind, I thought I would share a few tips with you if you are considering incorporating family members or friends into your stories.

First of all, if you are writing about someone you don't like or someone who has hurt you, for the sake of not seeming catty at least, DON'T make it obvious. Change their name, don't let your character have the same physical features as the person you know. And don't directly re write situations from real life. "Well where is the fun in writing about them?," you might say. The fun comes when you can take the hurt that they inflicted upon you, and make your hero or heroine experience it. Rather than directly recreating an insult or a particular scarring incident, make up a different situation that has the same outcome. That is, your villain who is based off of someone you know, inflicts the same pain you/your main character experiences, but in an entirely different way. That way, should the IRL person in question read your story, even if they have an inkling that it might be about them, they will have no proof to rub your nose or confront you about! It's really the perfect crime. You get to express how you feel to yourself, and the public, and the person who it's based off of may never find out! Oh the glory of fiction!

Also, if you are planning on basing a character directly off of someone you know, it's not a bad idea to ask that person if it's okay, or at least inform them about what you are doing. I'm assuming that if you are basing a character off of someone you know, they must be pretty cool and you probably like them and won't be writing any nasty stories about them. But if you know it will become obvious to that person who the character is based off of, inform that person about it before you let them read anything. Chances are, they will be flattered and excited to see how you interpret them into your story.

Have you ever written about people you know? Sometimes it can be subtle, and you incorporate character traits from several different friends into one person, or maybe you are taking the more classy form of revenge by basing your villain off of someone who has wronged you. I personally think writing about IRL people is fun, but it must be done in good taste. What are your thoughts?

Read My New First Chapter?

Those of you who have been around here for a while may remember when I uploaded the first couple chapters to my last complete project, "A Season in Summerton." And those of you who have been around more recently may have seen me expresses my exasperation at making that story a success, and how I'm trying to modernize the same tale. Well, I'm finally making progress! Your encouragement and support through these last few months of sparse blogging has been incredibly valuable, and it would make my day if y'all would peruse the new, and I'd like to think improved, first chapter of "A Season in Summerton." Please PLEASE leave your honest thoughts and comments below. I cannot improve without criticism, and I really do care about what y'all think. Thank you for your time and happy reading!




There hasn’t been a good looking or worthwhile guy seen in Summerton in over ten years. Of course, available men have passed through before, but none of them made me suddenly forget how to speak and/or form coherent thoughts, a raging epidemic I have had the guilty pleasure of seeing many of my friends fall prey to. But it’s not like I have their heads turning or anything. When it comes to the game of man catching, I certainly have my work cut out for me. For example last spring, a decent blonde bachelor with a well-to-do family settled in Summerton, and Cecilia Carmichael had him thoroughly secured in her clutches before you could say, “don’t throw yourself so hard at the men, you might trip and crack your face.”
Don’t ask me how.
The fact that Cecilia’s face might have been carved by angels might have had something to do with it, yet I prefer to think he saw something more in her than a pretty face. Her prospective inheritance laid away by her Mr. CEO father who I’m convinced hasn’t been seen wearing anything other than a suit since he was potty trained, could also have been what induced the new kid to propose to Cecilia at her high school graduation. It wasn’t like the boy was desperate. Just hours after his arrival he was awarded the secret and illustrious nickname of, “the local hottie,” and he had captured the interest of all the single females within ten square miles…which is all the females within ten square miles.
Yet I digress.
Where was I? Ah yes, the unconventional proposal. Even though I had been fairly expecting an equally moronic stunt, even I the cynical life-meddler did not foresee such a public popping of the question. For the rest of the summer nothing was spoken of but the cancelled wedding. Cecilia’s mother managed to assemble the ceremony of the century even on short notice and the local church was so swallowed up in decorations that we could scarcely find the front door. My attendance was strictly formal and by formal I mean that mother forced me to go after she reminded with teary eyes and a series of nostalgic nose blows how Cecilia and I had once sang a duet together in an elementary school performance.
Though I nodded as my mother relived that night in all its childish beautym the only part of that evening I remember was when Cecilia “accidentally” sang my final crescendo note for me. Such a tease, that Cecilia. Always accidentally stealing other people’s moments. Despite all that, I was eager to see how the wedding would play out for I had never attended one which had been formed under such adversely ridiculous circumstances. I had to stop myself from smiling when my predictions came true and the money grubbing suitor, whom shall remain nameless, made no appearance at the altar other than to publicly proclaim that he had made a mistake.
Gasps resonated through the small, historical chapel and I scrutinized the scene with sharp eyes that the unfortunately hysterical moment would never fade from my memory. That dude fled from the church and was never seen or heard from again, although he narrowly escaped a beating from Mr. Carmichael’s crew of body guards and a heel to the head which was weakly although passionately thrown from the sweaty palm of Mrs. Carmichael. The ultimate crown to the moment, however, was when the back of his suit jacket closed with the door on his way out, and we saw it suddenly vanish through the crack as he screamed in terror. Cecilia crumpled up into a pathetic little heap on the altar steps and I might have felt more sorry for her were it not for the Vera Wang veil surrounding her sobbing, trembling face. All I could think to myself was, “You could have fed a third world village with the cost of that veil…or had another cake at the reception. The choice is yours but I think you made a poor one.”
To a certain extent she resembled an over-glorified baby whose crying face shamed the extravagant dress on its body. She mourned like a proper widow for days, however, a leisurely getaway in Vegas with some of her cousins restored her even faster than the engagement had been made. She came back looking perhaps not quite as fresh faced as before, but certainly more rosy-cheeked.
            Despite past scandals, the prospect of a new single guy coming to town continues to create a hub amongst the female population. As such, when my best friend Katie Pearce came to report the arrival of Charles Turner, I, though excited, did not dare to hope for my own success.
It could be easily concluded from Katie’s description of his pretty face and even prettier family fortune that brazen flirting from every single woman within sight, would soon ensue. Our small town dates back to over one hundred years ago and lies where all the dreams which once existed gloriously in their dreamer’s imagination until they lost hope and deserted the notion: in East Texas.
The set apart atmosphere encouraged families to stick around for far longer than they were wanted and, consequently, we children have grown up together. And that’s really just a charming way of saying that we have dirt on everyone and are more familiar with the same group of people than we would prefer to be. Even though our mothers continue to conspire and speculate in secret, we all have given up hope of finding any worthwhile partner in Summerton. Even nosy Ms. Baines who knows the darkest secrets of everyone and their great grandmother, has given up home of match-making the youth of Summerton with one another.
            “Soooo….is he nice?” I asked, after Katie interrupted my study session under my favorite maple tree to enter into a ten minute pitch on why this guy who I have never met is the best thing to happen to this town to date.
            “Well, uh…” she laughed and I rolled my eyes, feeling fairly certain of what her giggles foreshadowed. “I haven’t exactly met him yet. Though I caught a glimpse of him whenever he was helping the movers unload the trucks in front of their house. They picked that old, abandoned one on Orchard Street you know, they want to fix it up. Anyhow, he had a pleasing smile and welcoming eyes…I think you and he would make a divine pair.”
            “Nonsense,” I scoffed, slamming my textbook shut and rather gratefully resigned to an afternoon of gossiping rather than studying. “If Cecilia Carmichael doesn’t have him irrevocably in love with her before I have a chance to meet him, you will.”
            “Of course I could make him fall madly in love with me.” Said she, with a wink and playful toss of the head. “But so could you, I would warrant. You always get on so well with the guys.”
            “That’s just my problem. Boys don’t look among their buddies for romance, that I have learned the hard way. No, this time around I intend to try something new.”
            “Oh?” Katie questioned with an upward flick of her dark, pointed brows. “I hope you don’t intend to snub all of us and everything you once adored for mere attention.”
            “Hardly! And whatever I do shall not be in the sheer pursuit of amusement alone. I have designed a social experiment, and Charles Turner sounds like just the proper proponent for my equation.”
            “And this ‘experiment’ as you put it is highly scientific, I am sure?”
            We both smiled.
            “You know I would work with nothing other than the latest and finest developments of science.”
            “But honestly Sofie,” she continued, “What do you intend to change? I’ve always relied on you being instable when it comes to consistency. I don’t know how I could cope with the thought of your every move and thought being intended.”
            “Now,” I reverently closed my eyes and shook back my auburn hair. “This change is not to take place around old friends like you. I merely mean to present myself differently to those whom I am meeting for the first time.”
            Katie slowly nodded, as though attempting to understand. My pink lips twitched when I suppressed a smile. “You, and I daresay everyone in town considers me to be, what we shall label as…bold.”
            “Outspoken,” Katie continued, touching the tips of her fingers as though counting. “Giggly,”
            “Yes.”
            “Unconventional.”
            “Agreed.”
            “Prone to clumsiness,”
            “Alright, I get the idea.” I laughed. “But I mean to act completely different. No more of my uncalled for although hilarious monologues, or frequent bursts of laughter.”
            “It won’t be easy for you.”
            “I know.” For some reason that prospect only made me smile all the more. As I faced the setting sun which lowered behind the town square, I took my most heroic stance and stared determinedly with my hands placed firmly on my hips. “But that is what will make it a challenge. I’ve always longed to be one of those soft-spoken, doe-eyed kind of girls who seem to swiftly obtain the attention of whomever they place their affections upon.”
            “Well not all guys prefer the same type. What if Charlie or some other boy comes along who would prefer your true personality?”
            Raising one eyebrow I stared her down, and Katie’s luminous blue eyes danced in return. “Seeing as I’m eighteen years old and that still hasn’t happened, I doubt it will. I’m not feminine enough for most guys and it’s time I started acting my age regardless.”
            Observing the sun which swung low in the sky, we joined arms and started walking towards my house. A delicious breeze swirled through Arthur Goodall’s peach orchard and saturated our lungs with the fragrance of summer. Lush grass mushing beneath my bare feet proved to be one of those delightful sensations that never loses its charm, despite the passing years. When we reached my wrap-around front porch or the “veranda” as my grandmother continues to call it, I said, “I’d invite you to stay over for dinner, but mom has already invited guests.”
            “Who?”
            No question is rude with old friends.
            “The Bromwells.” I rolled the name off my tongue like a bratty child being forced to apologize.
            Katie nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. “Yes, I have heard of their daughter Penny.”
            “Have you heard that she is nauseatingly giddy in addition to being quite the impressive flirt?”
            “Rumors have circulated. But they only moved her a few weeks ago, so I would not consider local gossip reliable.”
            “I’ll try to give her a chance to prove herself,” I huffed as though granting someone the liberty of a first impression was really stretching my limits. “But if what I’ve heard turns out to be true, this will not be an enjoyable meal.”
            Katie smiled and turned her feet like she was saying goodbye when she suddenly smiled and said, “The Turners, and now the Bromwells. Isn’t it weird?”
            “Isn’t what weird?” I yawned.
            “It’s been ages since anybody new has come to Summerton. I hope they turn out to be likeable people.”
            Patting her arm I replied, “That’s all we can really hope for, I suppose. Though I feel I’m not as excited by the prospect of a new “bachelor” as I should be.”
            “You never have been the giddy type.” She said, half admiringly, half reproachfully.
“I’m expecting you to keep me in line whenever we meet him.”
            “I will be the very model of sophistication, that you might mimic my graceful manners.” Like a pudgy ballerina I began dizzily twirling towards the front door as though dancing for an imaginary crowd.
            When Katie caught her laugher she wheezed, “Oh Sofie, the day when you are graceful and charming will be a far more headlining occasion that a good looking guy moving to town.”

            Our laugher rang and molded together like a familiar harmony. When it faded beyond the birdsong and rustling leaves she said, “I’ll see you later. Good luck with the dinner tonight.”      I closed one eye, stuck out my tongue, and made a gagging sound while pointing to my open mouth before walking inside where mom was frantically flying around the living room, fluffing pillows and demanding the food in the oven not to burn. 

I Don't Know What To Write Anymore

I used to write every day. I had a clear direction and concrete ideas...I knew what I was doing and everyday I would strive towards my goal. Yet now...I don't know what to write anymore. After completing my second novel which I was so proud of and realizing that the subject and setting weren't what today's publishers are looking for, I kind of lost direction. I'm still invested in that story and right now I have the idea to modernize it but it's so difficult to start again from scratch when I haven't been writing consistently in months. All the worries of senior year have been taking up so much of my time that it seems I don't have time to write anymore. But what's worse is that I don't know what to write because I don't have the same clear direction and ideas as I used to.

Have you ever felt this way? What do you do when you lose passion, or inspiration, or things don't go according to plan? Maybe I should start a new project, a different project that isn't writing a full-fledged book. I know that I have what it takes to succeed and be a writer, but it's never been so hard to get started.

I don't what to write anymore...what should I do?

Writing About People You Know

Oh, the constant struggle. It's tempting, satisfying, terrifying, and deliciously exciting all at the same time. I'm not sure that there is a convincing argument on either side of whether it's a good idea or not to write about people you know. All I can say is, you never know until you try and in my personal experience...it's been awesome. Of course, none of my works have been published yet, and that may very well have something to do with it. But as someone who always writes with publication in mind, I thought I would share a few tips with you if you are considering incorporating family members or friends into your stories.

First of all, if you are writing about someone you don't like or someone who has hurt you, for the sake of not seeming catty at least, DON'T make it obvious. Change their name, don't let your character have the same physical features as the person you know. And don't directly re write situations from real life. "Well where is the fun in writing about them?," you might say. The fun comes when you can take the hurt that they inflicted upon you, and make your hero or heroine experience it. Rather than directly recreating an insult or a particular scarring incident, make up a different situation that has the same outcome. That is, your villain who is based off of someone you know, inflicts the same pain you/your main character experiences, but in an entirely different way. That way, should the IRL person in question read your story, even if they have an inkling that it might be about them, they will have no proof to rub your nose or confront you about! It's really the perfect crime. You get to express how you feel to yourself, and the public, and the person who it's based off of may never find out! Oh the glory of fiction!

Also, if you are planning on basing a character directly off of someone you know, it's not a bad idea to ask that person if it's okay, or at least inform them about what you are doing. I'm assuming that if you are basing a character off of someone you know, they must be pretty cool and you probably like them and won't be writing any nasty stories about them. But if you know it will become obvious to that person who the character is based off of, inform that person about it before you let them read anything. Chances are, they will be flattered and excited to see how you interpret them into your story.

Have you ever written about people you know? Sometimes it can be subtle, and you incorporate character traits from several different friends into one person, or maybe you are taking the more classy form of revenge by basing your villain off of someone who has wronged you. I personally think writing about IRL people is fun, but it must be done in good taste. What are your thoughts?
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