Bernadette Benda

It’s officially been over a year since I’ve written a blog. I have totally left the blogging world, and this is by no means an announcement that I am back. I have confidence that exactly one person will read this blog, and that person will be my mom.

So consider this a writing exercise being done purely for my own advancement as a writer (and perhaps my own entertainment).

I’m sitting in a local coffee shop, in a slightly more bougie part of town (meaning they don’t have people drag racing at 11pm at night), that I will call the Villahhhge for all intended purposes.

It’s Sunday, at lunchtime, so as soon as I walked in there was a line that snaked in an awkward shape through the shop, in which I had to more or less shove my way through to get to the back.

I came straight from church, looking cute (at least I thought so), with my hair half-up/half-down in elvish fashion. The closest I get to wearing it down. However, my rubber band gave up on life.

My hair is down now.

But my headphones are holding it back from my face, and with a buttery croissant sandwich and a peanut butter cookie, a rubber band with a death wish can’t really ruin my day.

I’ve come to the conclusion that coffee shops are for writing non fiction and libraries are for writing fiction. I know I have written about this before (but I’m not gonna bother to dig through the archives and find out where). Writing fiction in a busy public area is awkward. Especially if there is a chance that someone could look over your shoulder and freaking read it. An example:

“His body was close. His severed head lay at the foot of the bed, nothing connecting the two anymore but a trail of blood.”

Because writing that in public makes one feel like an absolute psycho. Don’t even get me started on kissing scenes (insert that gif from the Princess Bride of the kid saying “is this a kissing book?” but I’m not going to because again, feeling too lazy).

You really have to get into the groove to write fiction. But nonfiction? I think being around people is the perfect place to do that. People watching is inspiring. The movement, the energy, all sorts of interesting things happening around you is the perfect soup to dip that nonfiction cracker into.

You didn’t know that nonfiction was made out of crackers did you?

Fiction is very internal. At least it is to me. It’s all about the weird and wonderful worlds that exist inside my head. Do I pull inspiration from real life? Sure. But everything I pull out for fiction comes from inside, while I feel like most non fiction comes from outside.

Non Fiction is about observation. About the world, oneself, or the out of place Transformers poster on the auto service center across the street.

Fiction is a world created inside. Especially when writing fantasy. I think too much influence from the “real world” can convince you that the only monsters are just inside us after all. And the “real world” is some place like a coffeeshop.

It’s not that way at the lake. Or in the woods. Because those places say no, the monsters are real.

And the library? Well, we all know anything is possible in the library.