The title of this post is perhaps more dire-sounding that I intended. I was musing the other day, as I wandered through the house, looking at all of my knick-knacks and such, and I realized that I have a lot of rabbit figurines.
My little nephew remarks on this, actually, every time he comes over. He tries to count all of my bunny items in the house, and loses count around 30-something each time. Yes, I collect bunny figurines, books, artwork, etc. For many years I owned pet rabbits, and they have always been one of my favorite animals.
And so the other day I realized that even though bunnies (both real and artistic ones) are a love of mine, I never write about them. No characters in any story I’ve written has a pet rabbit. I haven’t even written a fantasy or fairy tale about a bunny. I’ve never purposefully avoided writing about bunnies – they’ve just never made it into a story.
While that initial thought startled me, I don’t think it’s necessarily weird or bad. Yes, a writer puts a little bit of themselves into every story, even if it’s an other-worldly fantasy tale or futuristic sci-fi. But unless you’re writing memoir or something else that’s factual, then not everything in the story has to reflect you as the writer. (This is, of course, a great comfort to anyone who writes murder mysteries).
Maybe one day I’ll write about a character who loves rabbits, or even have a rabbit as a character. But in the meantime, bunnies will be one of my not-so-secret loves.
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