It was a strange assignment. One where our words on the page would be raw – rewrites equally raw, because we kept having to change each version. J was an amazing teacher; we believed her (secretly doubting): the final product would be the most truthful thing we’d ever written, despite being fictional.

First we wrote truthfully about a recent significant moment. I wrote about a boy.

We moved to writing it with opposite emotions. My pen bled directly from my heart, allowing me write the version I wished had happened instead of the ugly truth.

Next it was all in dialogue. That was strange – he and I rarely spoke.

Start with the climax, reverse the emotions again.

The final writing was to take the most significant feeling and write an entirely new, short vignette. Mine was about two friends. At the moment they knew the friendship was over, but neither said anything.

Years later, as we said goodnight and she drove away, I recognized it for what it was: the most truthful thing I’d ever written. Funny.