Master’s mindfuck. A book or not a book?

I always loved to write, but more often I was reading others. It was my work. Sharing bits of my life  online and at the same time figuring out lot of things for myself. In written. I got involved now. Here.
I carry a fancy notebook with me whenever I go, I  stop my car sometimes to pencil something what crosses my mind. I make notes in café. I use my mobile for voice recording during long drives. I have mountains of fragments, dialogs, sounds and letters, feelings and  thoughts for future. For future that never comes or for the book that will never be published.
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But this February, when the story with Man With a Plan and his son has started, I said to myself – I need to write about that. It seemed like amazing modern fairy tale: amazing business projects, politics, ménage à trois,  mental attraction… There were amazing strings of coincidences and other amazing  things…However, it  smelled a bit fishy in the very beginning. ..But if you want , I can name it  as smell of sea and shells….It was like a promise of super sappy story or horror story of manipulation. Both were good. Even for the same audience.

Who don’t like an unexpected death of my suitor exactly on the day I was about  to visit him at home in his country being on business trip there. And me being his last woman… And his son with boiling young blood in his veins  chasing me with crazy romantic offers after father’s death…

And  I still  don’t believe that something extraordinary and deadly had happened  2 months ago, maybe both guys  just were playing the wrong music … to a good dancer.

I danced to this bad music avoiding  red flags, carefully trying to keep my life affected as little as possible. I was so keen to believe it was a miracle and I was chosen from above for it…..I  was polite and understanding, despite negative, so I waited  for more lies to see where they would slip…

Real people, real identities, real situations… and unreal story.  Am I really attracted to witty but perverted minds?  Have I lost my ability to understand reasons of people behavior? Was I involved to play mindfucking game against my will? Didn’t I want to play it?  Why people play games?  Why games are played by people?  Was it real? Is it the life,  just  much spectacular than any fiction? I don’t know.

I needed to write to figure out it. And I have started my story.  I was not distracted. I sent farewell letters … I was back on track again.
I was sure the music stopped playing after funeral. I was too tired to dance.  But music started again two weeks ago. Just few  chords. Pianissimo … by youngster…

I keep waiting for more. And will definitely make all skeletons dance.

But…

Do I really need to write this book? Do I need to immerse myself in the past to figure out WHY instead of living my life in the present and think HOW? Do I want a sweet revenge by writing a book? Do I need to justify my behavior? Do I need to understand them or me?

Do I need to be THE AUTHOR? Does anyone need another book on crazy dating story?

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