I find it funny when I fall into the tantalizing trap, like most people do in similar situations, of believing that I am a character in someone else's fiction. I see it every time I run a writing class. Students will inevitably assume that they are the character in their friend's story. Sometimes the student writers are open, admitting it for all to hear, and other times they are coy, but it happens every time. Some people take it with a grain of salt (they apparently buy into the writer's claim that it's only fiction), others get angry, some sulk. However you take it, I have to believe that, at the very least, you, being the flattered/angered/hurt/embarrassed model of a fictional portrait, at some point entertained the idea that your fictional doppelganger was there on the page staring back at you. And therein lies the danger.
Case in point: I remember in a writing class in college having my professor assure us all that we were not characters in her story about a college writing class. It had been published, so it was out there for us all to see, and, despite the fact that we knew it was only fiction, we all spent hours trying to figure out who was, say, the neurotic pencil chewer, or who was the slovenly, unkempt genius with a flair for description. Truth be told, and she did tell us (repeatedly, emphatically), none of us were there at all, at least not in our true forms. We were there, yes, but only pieces of us. Traits, eye twitches, mannerisms, speech tics, but not the whole package.
Another time, in another class (this time a graduate independent study with the same fiction writer), I wrote a story about a lecherous English professor who specialized in 18th century English literature. Her husband, another of my professors, happened to specialize in 18th century English literature. Coincidence? Surely. Well, maybe. I mean I liked the guy. I liked the fact that he married my writing professor. I had no reason to suspect him of any of the nasty things my fictional English prof. did at all. It just came out in my story...really! Later, in our post-story conference, she gently reminded me that even inadvertent character assassination could be harmful- to my relationship with her husband and, in the future, to my checkbook, as libel is often embarrassing to deal with. Good points, and well taken.
You see, the truth is that all fiction comes from some place deep inside each writer. Who knows exactly where, but it's deep. And what else is in there? Our friends, memories, connections with those both alive and dead. All of those potential characters just milling around in the green room of the writer's soul, waiting to strut and fret again on the stage that is our fiction or poetry or personal essay. And we need to sort that stuff out before we write.
Do I put people I know in my stories? No. Do I put pieces of people I know in my stories? Absolutely. The trick is to make sure they're all mixed up enough so that the new creation is something that is just that: new.
And when I read, I have to remember that the only brush with greatness I can honestly say I will get is when I talk to the writer of the story, not when I put myself in the story whole.
Case in point: I remember in a writing class in college having my professor assure us all that we were not characters in her story about a college writing class. It had been published, so it was out there for us all to see, and, despite the fact that we knew it was only fiction, we all spent hours trying to figure out who was, say, the neurotic pencil chewer, or who was the slovenly, unkempt genius with a flair for description. Truth be told, and she did tell us (repeatedly, emphatically), none of us were there at all, at least not in our true forms. We were there, yes, but only pieces of us. Traits, eye twitches, mannerisms, speech tics, but not the whole package.
Another time, in another class (this time a graduate independent study with the same fiction writer), I wrote a story about a lecherous English professor who specialized in 18th century English literature. Her husband, another of my professors, happened to specialize in 18th century English literature. Coincidence? Surely. Well, maybe. I mean I liked the guy. I liked the fact that he married my writing professor. I had no reason to suspect him of any of the nasty things my fictional English prof. did at all. It just came out in my story...really! Later, in our post-story conference, she gently reminded me that even inadvertent character assassination could be harmful- to my relationship with her husband and, in the future, to my checkbook, as libel is often embarrassing to deal with. Good points, and well taken.
You see, the truth is that all fiction comes from some place deep inside each writer. Who knows exactly where, but it's deep. And what else is in there? Our friends, memories, connections with those both alive and dead. All of those potential characters just milling around in the green room of the writer's soul, waiting to strut and fret again on the stage that is our fiction or poetry or personal essay. And we need to sort that stuff out before we write.
Do I put people I know in my stories? No. Do I put pieces of people I know in my stories? Absolutely. The trick is to make sure they're all mixed up enough so that the new creation is something that is just that: new.
And when I read, I have to remember that the only brush with greatness I can honestly say I will get is when I talk to the writer of the story, not when I put myself in the story whole.
1 comment:
Honestly, you put a smile on my face, a quiet chuckle. I thought of the stories I've read and written and then I became a little worried. Is there too much truth in my fiction or too much fiction in my life?
Somewhere in all of this there is a message: a clear one, (be careful, reflect before you post) and a fuzzy one, (pieces of just about anything, always appear better than the whole of what truly exists).
Great point! (But...I'll continue to ponder the fuzzy point, sometimes pieces get you through the day!)
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