But this first clumsy attempt showed her that the imagination itself was a source of secrets: once she had begun a story, no one could be told. Pretending in words was too tentative, too vulnerable, too embarrassing to let anyone know. Even writing out the s, the s, made her wince, and she felt foolish, appearing to know about the emotions of an imaginary being. Self-exposure was inevitable the moment she described a character's weakness; the reader was bound to speculate that she was describing herself. What other authority could she have?
The character realizes that her attempts at storytelling reveal the deep secrets of her imagination. When she starts weaving a tale, she feels an overwhelming vulnerability; the words she chooses expose her innermost thoughts and emotions, making her hesitant to share her work with others. This sense of embarrassment stems from the fear that readers will see her own struggles reflected in the characters she creates.
As she navigates her role as a writer, she becomes increasingly aware that every description of a character's frailty opens her up to scrutiny. The act of writing forces her to confront her own experiences and feelings, blurring the lines between fiction and her reality. This intimate connection between the creator and their creation highlights the idea that one cannot escape the personal implications of their storytelling.
