As a writer who uses her love life (or lack there of) as fodder for mostly everything she writes, I’m kidding myself if I think I’ve been actively participating in anything romantic in the last three years–longer than that, probably.
See, that’s what happens when you treat your entire life as a narrative: everything’s a story. Everything is writable. It’s hard to turn that off, you know? To look at a conversation as a conversation instead of continuously parsing it as dialogue. To look at people as people instead of picking up on the minute details that make them dynamic characters. Everything is an opportunity for a symbol, motif, or theme. Nothing’s off limits, especially the really juicy, embarrassing, awful bits. & relationships are usually ripe with those.
It’s hard to participate in life when you’re the narrator instead of the main character.
I treat my love life like a spectator sport–I stand on the periphery, I watch the situations unfold, and then I write about it later. I’ve turned the men in my life into tropes, and that makes me the biggest trope of all.