The Memoir Chapters

The Line Between Seen and Unseen

Vivian doesn’t exist in the spotlight. She exists just outside of it. Close enough to see everything clearly. Close enough to understand how it all work. But far enough away that no one is really looking at her.

That creates a different kind of tension. Because when you’re not the one being watched, you end up seeing things that other people don’t.

In Written on Vinyl, that line—between visible and invisible, witness and participant—doesn’t stay stable for long.

Eventually, that line begins to blur.

The Memoir Chapters

One of the most unique elements of Written on Vinyl is the inclusion of memoir-style chapters written from Celeste’s point of view. These chapters aren’t just background information. They actively reshape how the reader understands the character. They reveal pieces of the past that the main timeline can’t fully access, add emotional context to decisions and relationships, and introduce a version of events that may or may not align with what we think we know.

They create a second narrative running alongside Vivian’s perspective. One that feels more direct, more personal, and sometimes more revealing.

But also… more subjective.

Inspired by Blind Items

If you’ve ever read blind items, you know the appeal.

They’re fragments of gossip. Stories about people in the spotlight whose names are never explicitly stated, but the details are just specific enough that you can start connecting the dots.

Part of what makes them compelling is the distance. You’re looking in from the outside, trying to piece together a life you don’t actually have access to.

The memoir chapters of Written on Vinyl play with that same curiosity, but they flip it. Instead of being on the outside looking in, the reader is placed inside the story.

There’s no guessing who the person is, no distance to soften what’s being revealed. You’re given direct access to a voice that feels personal, reflective and unfiltered. And that changes the dynamic completely.

Because now, it’s not just curiosity.

It’s intimacy.

Why They Fascinated Me (As a Writer and a Reader)

I’ll be honest: I am notoriously nosy.

There’s a reason people are drawn to celebrity gossip, behind-the-scenes stories, and anything that promises a glimpse into a life we don’t fully understand.

We’re curious about what happens when the spotlight isn’t shining directly on someone.

What they say, what they hide, what gets lost between the public story and the private one.

The memoir chapters allowed me to explore that from a different angle. Not just what it looks like to observe someone’s life, but what it’s like to live it.

There’s something inherently complicated about that.

Because memory isn’t objective. Perspective isn’t neutral. And the version of the story that gets told isn’t always the only version of the story that exists.

The tension between truth, perception and narrative, was one of the most interesting parts of writing those chapters.

The Bigger Picture

At it’s core, Written on Vinyl is about proximity. About being close enough to someone’s life to understand it, but not necessarily close enough to fully know it.

The memoir chapters collapse that distance for the reader.

They offer access. Context. A deeper emotional layer.

But they also raise questions:

How much of what we’re seeing is the full truth?

And how much of it is just one version of the story?