Entry 16:

Professor Marge,

Having once been accused of writing a roman à clef when I did not, I'd probably be making a major-league mistake to go ahead and actually do it now. Such a thing might be taken as retrospective confirmation of some very nasty and quite offensive speculation. Besides, one of the great frustrations for a writer of fiction--an inventor of stories, after all--is the automatic supposition that he or she is raiding the quotidian details of his or her own life for material. There are such writers, of course, including some very distinguished ones, but following that narrative strategy seems to me to shortchange a vital part of what we bring to our work: our imaginations.

In addition, it's useful to bear in mind Proust's admonition to liars, which applies equally well to novelists (Plato, after all, banned poets from his Republic on the grounds that they were, of necessity, liars). Proust suggests that the reason most liars get found out is that they try to incorporate as much of the truth as possible into their lie, thereby compromising the artistic integrity of the lie and in the process rendering it less convincing.

So ... my next novel will be entirely made up. No truth for me. Truth makes fiction dishonest.

This has been a very enjoyable experience and a lovely way to renew our acquaintance. Plus, I haven't had to send you monthly checks.

Erik