I’m currently writing scenes in which my protagonists suffer and struggle.
I’ve found that this is interfering with my peace of mind– that I’m unable to separate their suffering from my day-to-day life, to compartmentalize between fact and fiction.
Before this, while reading a book, I would lose hunger, thirst, all notion of time– lost in the vicarious experience of the protagonists. I would feel scared for them, sorry for them, or both– especially at the times nearing the climax. My parents would have to push me to bathe or eat or take part in any life activity.
This absorption has reduced with the years, with growing responsibilities.
But on some days, like this one, fact and fiction merge, and I don’t know which is which.
Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever got lost in the story you’re reading or writing?