So we've been reading Orlando by Virginia Woolf, and in this book Woolf plays with the idea of a fictional biography; she takes real people, and makes up fake stories about their lives, the main character being Orlando in particular. This type of writing has gotten me thinking. Virginia Woolf pictured their lives a certain way, she had complete control over what she wanted these characters to do and feel. Woolf got inside the characters heads. Thinking about this, I got into my own head. I have hopes, dreams, and plans for my future. What if, right now, I wrote a fictional autobiography?
I don't want to pat myself on the back, but I think this is kind of a genius idea. The autobiography wouldn't be totally fictional, rather it would be like writing your bucket list down in story form. If you wanted to, I guess you could alter the past, but that would sort of be wishing for something that can never happen. Ideally, I could write down my life story right now. A complete autobiography of the most exciting and intrigueing experiences in my life. My wishes, my dreams and my goals would all be bound together in a novel. It might sound ridiculous, but I guess if I wrote an autobiography it would drive me to make those things that I write about some true.
There would probably have to be some logic to it. The characters would be the people I currently know and love, and my experiences would have to be realistic (and by that I mean anything can happen) but this is creative liscense at its finest. The writer isn't just given the ability to make up words and sentences that are gramatically incorrect, they're given the right to create a story made of fantasy, and make it reality.
I think the best thing about this idea is that it's so ridiculous. I mean, let's face it, we all have ideas for what is going to happen down the road from now, when in truth, we have no idea what will even happen tomorrow. We could write down our entire future, plan it all out, but how accurate will it really be? If I wrote my own autobiography right now, it would probably include me living with the native tribal people of another country, climbing to the top of mount Kilaminjaro, joing the Peace Corps, and building an entire house with my own two hands in Africa. Will I actually end up doing these things? I really, truly, hope so.
Maybe I will write this fictional autobiography, and I'll pack it away up in the attic to collect dust. And one day, when I'm old and grey, I'll read it again. When I finish the book, I might be filled with satisfaction because I fufilled my own predictions, or maybe I'll lean back in the chair and laugh how naive i was, and maybe I'll scoff at myself for not being as adventurous as I predicted. I'm not one to live past the next few hours, but it just seems interesting. Virgnia Woolf took this character, and owned him. She gave Orlando life, and experiences. I have that exact same power to own myself; I can give myself these experiences only I have the complete authority to make them reality.
Fictional autobiography. Who knows, it could be fictional now, but it doesn't always have to be. The only person that can make that happen is myself.
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