I have spent my whole professional career as a reporter, writing about true stories, and researching to find the truth about the facts.
Three decades of doing so every day have burned my creativity. I can’t imagine new worlds. I only know the real one. Too well.
I want to write books now, but I found that I can’t find a story born in my imagination. Everything I can think about as a plot for a possible novel are real events.
If I try to write fiction, I’m sure I would not be able to put the disclaim “All characters in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.” All I can think about actually happened.
When I was young, I was creative. I explored poetry and short stories with some success, but all these years of harsh journalism put an end to it.
Now I wish that little by little old qualities will come back. But I need serenity and time I don’t have.
I have written and published a book last year. But it was about a true story, and I did it after thorough research among old diaries, documents, and archives. It was a very fulfilling experience.
I would like to continue working as a writer, but I desperately need to find my creativity and let fly my imagination.
(In the picture, me with my first book)