That's not why I bring it up. The three of us cackled over it so much that I found myself worrying about this whole blogging thing. It's so easy to sit in the privacy of your home and write about your private life and then hit "publish" without really thinking it through. I did read through all my posts a few times before linking to this blog on my facebook account, trying to decide whether I felt comfortable letting people who knew me read it. And I actually waited a day to publish this post, and discussed it with my husband first. Even if I'm comfortable baring myself to the world--and I'm not always sure I am--I'm not likely to write only about myself. This girl didn't use my husband's name, but he is certainly recognizable from the details, and ultimately he came out rather badly depicted. Moreover, my husband and his mother questioned the accuracy of several things this girl wrote about Trent and his family. But memory is a funny thing. In her mind, it probably did happen that way.
I've always thought I would eventually publish a novel that would draw upon my life and therefore raise some of these issues, but this feels different for several reasons. It's not disguising itself as fiction, and it's published in close to real time. But most significantly, to me, it's not clear that this is worth it.