Great Aunt Pauline

I got out my novel yesterday. I was in the middle of reading The Sweet Life by Lynn York- a wonderful woman from whom I took a class at High Point Universtity in 2008. It was my senior year of college. I was married. I was on my way. I started writing my novel that year, in that class. I didn't know I was writing it. I was just completing an assignment. Write something was the usual assignment for an Engligh major like me; I was a junkie for those writing-workshop type classes,

My novel began with a reminder about my great aunt Pauline, whom I never met. She died when she was in her 30's. amd my grandfather never spoke of her. I only knew he had a sister because of my mom's mentionings. But even my mom didn't know very much. Pauline had a miscarriage and became very depressed. She was admitted her to a mental hospital and then her husband gave permission for a lobotomy. That's how her life ended.

We found photos of her when my grandfather died (my mom's father, not the one who just passed away), and my mom's older cousin told us stories of Pauline. She was a girly girl, into fashion and nailpolish. I still don't know very much about her, but my mind wanders. And I do have a picture.

Lynn York's class was called Fact or Fiction, and revolved around the truth that most fiction is born from facts. In a separate class, we had to do an exersize where we started out telling a ture story, then at some point we had to start telling lies about it.

For instance: My name is Sara. I'm 26 years old. I am married and I have a one-year old. It is hard for me to make dinners sometimes because I am not a great cook, or a great meal planner. .... That is all truth, but then I might start talking about how I went grocery shopping yesterday and bought things to make beef bourguignon. I might start talking about how I want to be like Julie in Julie and Julia, and then how her story made me do some research on Julia Child. These are all lies, but that's how great fiction is born. We start with what we know, what we have experienced, what we love, and then our mind wanders into un-charted territory. 

I have 22 pages of my novel, plus a few more handwritten and very short chapters. That's not very much. But it's a start.

Is anyone else writing a novel? If so, what was the truth that it began with?