I envy those writers who can and do write fiction. They can use what they like from their own experience and then step away from it. Conversely, when they come up with some new idea or device or plot twist they can drop it in where appropriate and take pleasure in their new idea. Of course they must, if they want to have a career as a writer, satisfy their audience or at least find the segment of readers who enjoy what they are capable of producing.
On the other hand, those of us who actually work from life are limited by the sometimes slow progress of life and the intermittent appearance of issues or ideas that can be meaningful, turned from the pain of a single person to something that others can see and understand. The difficulty is then to be able to step away from the pain and see the issue as grist for the writing mill.
Today, in some unconscious recognition that this journey is indefinite and the end unpredictable, I have started putting the year at the head of each small entry. Do I want to be still writing on December 4, 2017 or 2018? I don’t know.