M.B NOVELS®

It doesn’t come from nowhere

Because the truth is, I don’t write from nowhere. No one does. Even the most constructed stories carry fingerprints and habits of thought, emotional reflexes, the way certain feelings show up again and again, wearing different names but never quite leaving.

So yes, sometimes the things I write feel a little too real because the intensity isn’t invented, just rearranged. But that doesn’t mean the story is me.

But it also doesn’t mean it isn’t, at least a little.

Somewhere between truth and performance

There’s a strange in-between space I live in where everything is both true and not true at once. Where I can give a character my worst thoughts, my most irrational fears, my softest instincts, and still insist it’s fiction. Not because I’m lying, but because I’ve transformed it. I’ve given it distance. Shape. A different ending, maybe.

It’s not a diary. It just knows things a diary would know.

And I think that’s where we might get uncomfortable. Not because the writing is dark, or intense, or emotional — but because it feels familiar. Because it echoes something real enough that it stops feeling like performance. And when something stops feeling like performance, the instinct is to explain it and understand it. I don’t blame you for that.

But you’re not getting the whole story

Writing isn’t a confession booth, and it’s not a medical chart either. It’s more deliberate. A place where I get to choose what to reveal, what to exaggerate, what to soften, and what to leave unresolved. You’re not wrong if you see pieces of me in it. I’m just not offering you the full thing.

So go ahead, read into it a little. Feel what you want to feel. Recognize what feels familiar.

Even I don’t fully know where some of those sentences come from. And I think that’s exactly why I keep writing them.

— Montse