I'm in the process of writing a story I'd probably call 'autobiographical' in the sense that several elements of its plot derive from stuff that happened a long time ago in central Iowa. I tried to write this same story once before, in grad school -- because these plot elements I'm talking about are pretty good ones, I guess, elements that seemed to say, If you can't make a story out of us, how lame a writer are you? Fairly lame was the answer (Dick Bausch tried to be nice to that story in the way people are nice to a lost child....).
Anyway I'm just realizing something: I'm trying to think back on the actual events, and I'm not sure I really remember. What happened to me? Did 'X' happen to me or someone else? And where? And who all had knowledge?
People accuse Sherwood Anderson of fabricating his memoirs. I don't know. Maybe he did the best he could.