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The juiciest morsel of this story, and the only thing I would preserve should I someday work it into a piece of fiction, is the fact of the naked man miraculously fording a white-water river to freak-out a couple of girls.
The protagonist might be modeled after the author and do at least some of the things the author has actually done in his or her life.
However, the ratio of truth to fiction will be somewhat small.
A writer who pens a story about a school can be assumed to have either attended school or know people that have.
The school does not need to be the writer’s school nor resemble it in any real way; the concept of “school” exists in the writer’s memory and is therefore based on some type of real experience. It’s well known that Stephen King based on a real hotel in Colorado, and that most of his stories take place in Maine because, well, he’s from there. He is not a possessed father stalking his family in a remote mountain resort, but his experience of having actually stayed in the Stanley Hotel informed his fiction. King is actually a pretty nice guy with a vivid imagination, a writer who can transform a real memory into an entirely new world inside the pages of his novels. In the book, King creates a detailed and credible environment—a small town in Maine—that is inexplicably covered by an impenetrable dome one day.
If people or places in the book were based on actual people and places, their similarity would be effectively obscured by the overall plot.
When converting truth to fiction, it's best to cull only the essential and leave all the rest.Keeping in mind that the goal is to write fiction, I have a few ideas on how to make it work.It can easily be argued that all fiction is autobiographical in some way because it undoubtedly contains elements of the author’s actual experience.The river was wide at that section and, in order to have appeared ahead of us in the trees as we tried to escape, the naked man would have had to wade upstream across the rushing, 2-3 foot deep water, walking on slippery rocks the entire way as the river was not deep enough to swim in.Surprised, we mumbled something about having to go and bolted down the path toward her car.When we got there, we checked under the car, in the backseat and then locked ourselves in.When I looked back at the river as we peeled out, he was nowhere to be seen.While the situation of being stuck under a dome is outrageous, and certainly not autobiographical, the world of the small town and its citizens is entirely realistic, a genuine portrait of a typical small Northeastern village.King is able to write authentically about such a town because of his own experience as a Maine resident.A few hours into our excursion, us happily wading in the cool water and sunning ourselves, a man appeared on the opposite side of the river, roughly 150 feet away from us. The path, narrow and steep in places, was up the bank from the river, and a layer of trees obscured the river’s edge.About halfway back to the car, we heard a voice address us from the trees.