Cliche though it may be, I am at a loss for a better way to explain my feelings about the reality of auto-biographical work.
As a reader of a lot of autobio works, I can’t help but feel a closeness and a familiarity with the total strangers whose work I read. The things I’m reading are true and by combining those true things I feel like I have a complete picture of who the writer is.
The reality is more like this image. I am seeing this person, it’s true, but I’m missing pieces. I’m only seeing whatever they choose to share. And that discrepancy between reader perception and creator presentation is something I find really interesting.





