From the first age I learned what genres were, I was certain that nonfiction was not my favorite. To me, it seemed impossibly boring. Especially when I had already been charmed by fairy tales and fantasy, any writing from reality seemed all too mundane in comparison.

Admittedly, within a few short years, novels of realistic fiction became my favorites; but even these stories served to hone some grandness in normalcy, an impossibility of unexpectedness that made life all the more fantastical. By right of nonfiction, however, any derivative of imagination was grounded by unyielding fact or truth. I found spectacularly little allure in a story relaying reality, and would continue to believe so until reading this one vignette:

My first thought at thirteen-years-old was that I had never read anything so achingly, baringly beautiful. The passage is from Sandra Cisneros’ novel The House on Mango Street. Today, her novel is one of my favorites, but “Sire” was my first and forever inspiration for creative nonfiction. The mood is incredibly tense, and palpably so. The intrigue and tantalization of her suppressed desire is unnervingly emotional, and absolutely changed my perception of nonfiction.

I have come to understand that creative nonfiction involves a perspective of reality which is at once blatantly raw and artfully refined. What is very much grounded in the reality of an author can still be shaped into unfounded dreams and unforgettable storytelling, because nonfiction is not limited by reality; it is enlivened by it. The nuances and beauty and atrocities of life are enough to make any story entertaining. But more so than this, its ability to perfectly encapsulate parts of life in stylized writing has made nonfiction a gem among genres.