I've been thinking about a few writers that I know. There seems to be a tendency toward self-mythologizing. Creating the mood, lighting, pose, feeling... that may or may not be real. Romanticizing one's own life. I think I used to be more enamored with this than I am now. Perhaps there is a tipping point where you either start believing the myth or you reject it. I guess I fall into the latter category.
On the other hand, mythologizing is a mark of my youth. My late teens through my late twenties were littered with writer types--both in my friendships and my romantic relationships. I realized even then that they were including me in their fantastic daily yarns. Not necessarily the written stories (those too, of course)--but the daily musings, the phone conversations, the letters, the talks over coffee or late in dorm rooms or at our hangout bars. It was flattering to say the least. In fact, it was a little like a drug--this creation of a dreamy life. I sort of miss it sometimes.