Creative nonfiction deals with memories, but in an unique way. Since memory isn’t perfect, cnf allows the writer to relate a memory that they may not remember completely or not at all. It also allows the writer to bring in different point of views to make a whole memory or idea.

Sarah Dessen, in her novel Just Listen, describes this aspect through the reflection of her main character, Annabel: “So many versions of just one memory, and yet none of them were right or wrong. Instead, they were all pieces. Only when fitted together, edge to edge, could they even begin to tell the whole story.”

While the majority of creative nonfiction conveys at least one version of the truth, fiction does not. Fiction may be based on a conversation you had or heard, a dream remembered, or a person you passed on the street, but it is not the truth. And from a reader’s perspective, fiction is what you read when you want to travel the globe or even to another world.

As my readers have most likely figured out, I love creative nonfiction and I mainly write in the genre. This semester, however, I am taking an intermediate fiction class. I like writing fiction, but I don’t feel quite comfortable with it.

It’s taken me a while to realize why that is the case. I figured it out quite recently: I haven’t discovered my fiction voice even though I started writing fiction before anything else. To contrast, I easily discovered my creative nonfiction voice. Of course, I’ve been assuming that those voices are as different as the styles are.

But, what if they aren’t?

What if I applied my concise, sometimes blunt style of writing to my fictional stories? And conversely, what if I tried introducing more exposition and detail to my cnf?

What if?

I am always ready to challenge myself as a writer. This might be one of the biggest challenges that I’m going to face: figuring out my voice in each style. And it might be one keeps on pushing me.

As always, thank you for reading. Please comment your thoughts.

I have been on a plethora of walks in my life. Some with loved ones, a few with near strangers. Some surrounded by wild flowers, a few surrounded by dry grass and bare trees. Some have been enjoyable, a few have been long and perhaps a little tortuous.

I am not sure exactly why I am so fond of walks/hiking. I like the exercise, yes, but I like the opportunities for sunlight, nature, and the presence of God. I don’t particularly like to hike when it’s hot (who doesn’t?), but I do love when I feel the wind.

Because as John 3: 8 (New American Bible) says, “The wind blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” I like when I feel the wind because I am reminded that God is with me, even (or, especially) when I can’t feel him or when I don’t have hardcore evidence.

What follows is a short reflection on a recent walk taken at dusk with my roommate. During this walk I noticed the wind as well as a few other things. Not all my walks are profound experiences as this one was, but not every one can be. But it goes to show that ordinary events can often become quite extraordinary.

Enjoy.

The trail rose in front of us, glowing in the dark. It was our flashlight and our plan for the immediate future.

It was past sunset in that eerie, but illuminating time of day. The trees on the top of the bluff were silhouetted against one of The Painter’s favorite shades of blue. Every branch was discernible and I could imagine running my fingers across its sharp needles.

We paused at a clump of sunflowers, perfectly formed, albeit small. Their yellow petals were bright despite the absence of sun. Their scent was like the promise of rain after a long, hot Colorado week.

On our way back to the car, I felt no prickling fear at my back. When my roommate switched the flashlight on, I wiggled my fingers in the beam, knowing for certain that there were no monsters behind or before me. For I knew the Spirit, who resides in the wind, had a hand on my shoulder.