is fiction a lie?

Pet peeve – being introduced as a novelist and promptly called a liar. I don’t know who thought this was cute to begin with (I’m lookin’ at you, Albert Camus), but I’m taking issue with it. Merriam-Webster defines a lie as 1. A false statement deliberately presented as being true; a falsehood.  2. Something meant to deceive or give a wrong impression.

When someone has a novel in their hands, they know it’s just a story (unless it’s by James Frey – then they don’t know what to make of it). I don’t write a novel with the intent to deceive. It’s a story. I know it and the reader knows it. When someone reads my story, they know it’s not some newspaper account of an event that has put on fancy clothes and a colorful mask in order to pose as a novel. It’s just a piece of hopefully entertaining prose and if I’ve done a really good job, it might just point at truths that are difficult to approach in other ways. I’ll give Camus that much.

(if you don’t know the quote by Albert Camus: “Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”

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By the way, click on Pinocchio above – it takes you to the site of a woman who makes wonderful masks.

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I leave you with the master, Shakespeare (where lie means both ‘sleep with’ and falsehood) in Sonnet 138:

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor’d youth,
Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress’d.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love’s best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter’d be.

 

where good ideas come from

 

why write #1

Writers write. We have to and the prospect of years toiling in obscurity doesn’t seem to dissuade us. But that’s not the why I’m talking about. Digging deeper, perhaps the real question is, what are you wrestling with? Why do you write?

I was reading about the new movie with Mel Gibson, The Beaver, along with the comments about Gibson in social media and it got me to thinking about forgiveness. This dovetailed with a very long conversation with a very wise woman who was telling me about a mistake she’d made a few years ago – nothing catastrophic, nothing remotely on a par with Gibson’s anti-Semitic rants, just one small mistake that caused some embarrassment. The particulars aren’t important, but she noted that just as I remarked that “it’s a learning process,” she said “no, I screwed up, it was my fault, I should have known better and I will do better next time.” She’s at the point where she’s tired of people brushing it off when one tries to own up to a mistake and she’s right. It occurred to me that we’ve learned to deflect taking responsibility for mistakes (the non-apology apology of “sorry if i offended”) including allowing others to own up to their mistakes because as a society, we are apparently no longer willing to offer forgiveness. If someone says something verbally heinous, particularly if they’re on the other side of your fence, be it political, religious, whatever, there is apparently no mea culpa strong enough to warrant forgiveness.

That’s the kind of thing that endlessly fascinates me as a writer. There’s so much to explore. Big questions. Is it true we’ve stopped forgiving, why can one person say something and be shunned and another get away with it? Does truth really emerge during drunkenness or not? Good, evil, suffering… oh, suffering. Again, we’ve decided suffering is bad and must be eliminated. Are there consequences to that? Does the law of unintended consequences kick in?

With only a cursory look at some of the issues above, you could create an entire narrative around a society or group of people that refuses forgiveness. It could be general or it could be specific to one form of expression or one act (you, yes, you! could be the next Orwell or Hawthorne!) All these thorny, not-easily-answered questions are part of what keeps me coming back to the page. What do you wrestle with?

(I know, and am sorry – worst movie adaptation ever, but come on, the pic works so well with the text!)

 

time management in life & narrative

When I was hard pressed for time – and there can be many reasons, most often a day job and/or small children, an ailing parent, etc. – I learned to write in 10 minute increments. I know writers (and am most emphatically not one) who get up at 4 am to write for two hours before their family is up and everyone has to go to work and school. That’s dedication. Not everyone can manage that. I say trust your body and your method. If you don’t work well when you’re tired, get some sleep and learn to work in 5 and 10 minute increments because it is possible to get a lot done in less time than you think. That kind of time management is successful based on what works best for you.

Now, about time in your narrative…. If you really want to learn about both time and a strong narrative arc in one pass, write a screenplay. It’s a highly disciplined form of writing in which time management is vital. My Dinner With Andre aside, no one wants to sit through long slogs of conversation or backstory. (note: I have mixed feelings about Certified Copy, but I’m still thinking about it hours later so it is thought-provoking, particularly about marriage and what happens over years) Anyway, if you have one of those long conversations, it had better be riveting or there’d better be a good reason for the effect (boredom) if it’s not.

When you’re constructing a narrative, you are also manipulating time: scenes lengthen it out and summarizing shortens it. Within scenes, adding sensory detail draws out time in a scene, allowing you to relate to the character in a different way, get inside their skin or allow time for the audience to catch up if there’s been a lot of emotion and/or action. Put some thought into when and why it’s best to detail a scene and when you can have the literary equivalent of a match cut (like the candle smoke into train steam in Schindler’s List) or a jump cut as Steven Pressfield noted from The Hangover: “from the guys clinking glasses on the rooftop—”This is going to be a memorable night.” CUT TO: a floor-level shot of the villa in which our four heroes are staying; dawn light streaks in; a chicken waddles across in the background. Then we see Stu (Ed Helms) face-down on the tiles, passed out, with his eyeglasses lying askew beside him.” Those scenes whether for the screen or in a book allow the viewer or reader to fill in with their imagination and audiences enjoy the opportunity. Give it to them.

And if that isn’t enough to consider, take a look at how language influences the way we see the world.

Jerry Seinfeld offers a strategy to keep writing.

There’s a bonus on procrastination if you click on the photo above.

 

 

book sculptures

These are incredible. The artist is Brian Dettmer and his website is here.

 

talent ≠ character

In the wake of the John Galliano incident, I spent way too much time procrastinating regarding my own writing by reading comments about JG and getting depressed. First, it shouldn’t, but it surprised me how many people were willing to overlook and make excuses for his ugly remarks or not understand how he could hold those views in light of his talent. Seriously?

That’s like saying, “You make pretty dresses (books, music, art, etc) so you must be all pretty inside too.”

Then there were those who eviscerated Mel Gibson and somehow thought this was different. Um, no. Whatever your political, sexual or faith orientation, a bigot is a bigot. Blaming it on his inebriation? Mental illness? Come on. Try lack of character. Lack of good character. Just because someone writes great music or novels or designs or acts well, doesn’t mean anything about what kind of person they are. I’m not sure how this fairy tale took root in our culture (lots of blame to go around including the Romantics to Hollywood movies), but it’s demonstrably wrong. Coco Chanel: compelling rags to riches story, iconic designs and she was not only a Nazi sympathizer but collaborator and notorious anti-Semite. Wagner, another anti-Semite, yet his music has endured. Others are blogging about this and noting the difference between the art and the artist.

And I’m not alone in thinking about what Woody Allen said: “People worship talent and it’s so ridiculous. Talent is something you’re born with, like Kareem [Abdul-Jabbar] is born tall. That’s why so many talented people are sh*theels.”                         …and then he married his step-daughter.

So once again, talent does not equal good character. Fame does not equal good character.

It is, however, a worthwhile endeavor to improve your own character as your improve your writing (or other art) because you do not have to be an unhappy, miserable jerk to create something wonderful and worthwhile…or controversial. Truly controversial, not merely shocking. I know plenty of now-sober writers whose decision to set aside the bottle or needle has no doubt extended their years to work, improved the quality of their life and relationships, and given them the clarity we all need to create art that creates connection.