November 21, 2020

WRITE IT! HOW TO GET STARTED

 Writing tips and tricks: Learn to write in a series of fun chapters. 


Chapter One: Autobiography and Fiction






Subtitle: Why I could label my collection of short stories The Woman Who Never Cooked non-fiction--even though it is indeed FICTION! and a probing answer to the difficult question, Where is the TRUTH? (*asterisks refer to footnotes at the end of this essay).


I will be using this book and others I've written to explain: buy it at a discount 👉🏻here or on Amazon


You know the line: Truth is stranger than fiction? I have a twist on that. I've learned through the writing of three books and a fourth in process* as I write this essay that the fictional account of my stories have as much emotional truth and intellectual significance as the factual ones.


As memoir has increased in popularity** both in books and movies—"A True Story" being the familiar movie tag—I've continued to argue that fiction, written close to the bone, will likely provide the reader with a deeper look into the life and soul of the writer, but more important, the reader if the story is worth his time.


Think first of this question, one that I pose to myself for purposes of this essay: Do you think self-revelation is part of the process of writing?


My answer: Any serious writer who denies it, lies.



I agree with David Shields who argues in favor of self-revelation and to a large extent against the novel that is not self-revelatory. He does so in Reality Hunger through a series of quotes, occasionally his own—unabashedly without full attribution (but that's another story) using only the name of the writer. 

Here's John Berger, "Authenticity comes from a single faithfulness: that to the ambiguity of experience." 

And later, the late David Foster Wallace, "I don't know what it's like inside you and you don't know what it's like inside me. A great book allows me to leap over that wall: in a deep, significant conversation with another consciousness, I feel human and unalone." **


A serious writer can't help but reveal even as the lie of fiction operates.


Lee K. Abbott, a writer and teacher I knew and admired (A memorial to him will appear in Chapter 7 of this course), has put the issue succinctly this way: "All stories are true stories, especially the artful lies we invent to satisfy the wishful thinker in us, for they present to us, in disguise often and at great distance, the way we are or would want to be." ****


My collection of short stories The Woman Who Never Cooked includes three memoir pieces I don't identify and I will use them here to explain why I argue that the fiction is more powerful, more truthful, if you will, than the so-called true story.


First, I give as example a comparison of what is essentially the same story told in fiction and also in memoir.


I put aside my novel Who by Fire that was close to finished when my husband said after 22
years of marriage, oh-so-Greta-Garbo, "I need to live alone."


This event stopped me in my tracks—and eventually I blogged my life while I was living it. That blog turned into the memoir (Re)Making Love and it won a 2014 Watty Award. 

 

That book like Who by Fire is a love story but oddly one that fiction would probably not find credible. 


I learned through these two books that the fictional account of my story has greater emotional truth and intellectual significance than the factual one. 


So I had to write what really happened as memoir, as non-fiction. The memoir tells the truth as I knew it while I lived through the wreckage of my marriage—and, for those who may have read it, its ending defies credibility and is totally true-blue. 


What happened even appears in the 2011 Valentine’s Day issue of Real Simple Magazine where my husband and I tell our story.


What I'm saying is that the hold to the facts that memoir must adhere to kept me from going after the emotional truth as forcefully as the novel Who by Fire


I learned through these two books that the fictional account of my story has greater emotional truth and intellectual significance than the factual one and that book has loads of fun trailers from rom-coms and photos I took. I do hope you'll read it even as I argue that it can't go where Who by Fire, a fictional account with a quite different ending could. 


After all, in the novel, arguably if you believe the Lena character is me, I kill her off on page one—actually I think all the characters are parts of me.


Here's how I learned what the so-called true story didn't reveal. I am the reader for the audible.com version of Who by Fire (audible.com version here). While reading it aloud in an NPR recording studio, I discovered my own book as if for the first time. I realized I'd written this novel to find the man I must have known on the unconscious level I was losing. 


Good fiction, meaning you know while you're reading that the writer is risking her life, can go to this place of hard truth in a way that memoir because of its hold on the so-called facts can't do if the writer is honest—and honesty is the key word here to understand my meaning. 

 


In their book Art and Fear, David Bayles and Ted Orland explain our resistance to fiction—or to any art—this way: "[T]he prevailing premise remains that art is clearly the province of the genius (or, on occasion, madness). ... [A]rt itself becomes a strange object—something to be pointed to and poked at from a safe analytical distance. To the critic, art is a noun.


"Clearly, something's getting lost in the translation here. What gets lost, quite specifically, is the very thing artists spend the better part of their lives doing: namely, learning to make work that matters to them. ... [W]hat we really gain from the artmaking of others is courage-by-association. Depth of contact grows as fears are shared—and thereby disarmed—and this comes from embracing art as process, and artists as kindred spirits. To the artist, art is a verb." *****

 

I decided to further prove the force of fiction by revising the title character's name to Olivia in each of The Woman Who Never Cooked's stories for the second edition. The allusion (Olivia) is to that character in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, the comedy that takes center stage in the story "Madness and Folly" about my father after he broke his hip—in real life and in fiction. *****


I could say that I am hidden inside the fiction—but in fact I am not. 


In the fiction, I used food and adultery as metaphor for the grief I bore through my mother's, my father's and my sister's illnesses and deaths. I wasn't sure who I was. As a prime example, I didn't know when I wrote "The Woman Who Never Cooked," the title story, that I would become that woman.

When I first wrote each of the stories the central character had the same name in every story because I knew that what I was doing was direct, tough and purposefully artful exaggeration of autobiography. My agent at the time suggested that I change the main character's name to hide that fact—as I say above, I later decided that he was wrong. And, perhaps surprisingly, the book only achieved publication—and won a couple of prizes— after I added two of the three memoir pieces that had been published in literary magazines. 


All the stories have been published first that way:  I will discuss the importance of the small literary magazine in another chapter coming later.


The stories in the collection The Woman Who Never Cooked that are memoir are: "Rugalach," a tribute to my mother; "Losing," a tribute to my father; and the eponymous closing story "The Woman Who Never Cooked." 


Let's talk about the fiction and why I am now convinced that each of the other eight stories is more powerful, more truthful than the memoir—with the exception of "The Woman Who Never Cooked." 


I say this about the last because it is written in third person like a fairy tale. The opening line is, "There once was a woman with 327 cookbooks who never cooked." Through food, this true-to-its-core memoir tells the story of my mother's, my father's and my sister's illnesses and the effect on living that their trials had on me. 


You may read for free "The Burglar" here where the story, along with others in the collection won the Santa Fe Writers Grand Prize and was published by the literary magazine Chelsea before appearing in the book of short stories. I'll use this story to explain.

 

What would the burglar advise?

The image above that I use on my website was designed by Zaara.com and uses the line  in red "What would the burglar advise?", a line inside the story—not exactly a line you'd expect.

You would think me mad if I'd written this as memoir because the actual burglar is alive and well in this story—something only fiction can achieve without madness. Even Robin Hood and maid Marian appear in the story in an Internet game. 



Audrey Hepburn as Maid Marian and Sean Connery in the 1976 flick.


But the burglar himself is essential to express the love letter to my husband that I wrote here in the aftermath of my mother's death and a burglary that actually did occur in our home while we were away visiting both our children at college. These facts I compress into the story's essence.


So where is the truth? Does Ruth/Olivia actually desire the burglar? Does a burglar come to her home from his on Virgilia, a street near mine where the burglary actually occurred? 


Does it matter that I still own the locket that is in the burglar's pocket and that the actual burglar chose all my other jewelry to steal and left behind the locket with its crude seal?


With that fact, the story wrote itself. Locket in hand that my mother had saved with a lock of her mother's hair sealed inside, I went on the journey of discovery and the result is heartfelt non-fiction that cannot accurately be called that.


Joyce Carol Oates has put the conundrum of literary fiction so often spurned for the "true" story because, What can one learn from a "fiction"? this way:


"So much of literature springs from a wish to assuage homesickness, a desire to commemorate places, people, childhoods, family and tribal rituals, ways of life—surely the primary inspiration of all: the wish, in some artists clearly the necessity, to capture in the quasi permanence of art that which is perishable in life. Though the great modernists—Joyce, Proust, Yeats, Lawrence, Woolf, Faulkner—were revolutionaries in technique, their subjects were intimately bound up with their own lives and their own regions; the modernist is one who is likely to use his intimate life as material for his art, shaping the ordinary into the extraordinary." *******


What I hope to have done here and for all the stories I've written that are (quote) fiction is to lift the curtain on that much misunderstood word. I argue that to dismiss out of hand the truth that close-to-the-bone, self revelatory fiction reveals is to miss a connection that may reveal to you what writers say in print (out loud, so to speak) and that would otherwise remain unspoken. The reason? Fiction, like all the arts that reveal through artifice, frees the unsayable. Why oh why would any of us who read or go to movies or art museums or photographic exhibits wish to miss that unsayable truth because we want the so-called true story?


Cover image by Shannon Kellie, one of my students, who took the full course: see bolded note at end of this chapter; flower image by Zaara.com

Image of "To Tell the Truth" from Wikipedia

Image of Sean Connery and Audrey Hepburn from YouTube

Covers for Reality Hunger by David Shields and Art and Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland are images from the web or the author's websites.


Footnotes follow:

*Dangerous Love my novel that is offline but first two chapters may appear here as a taste. It is almost finished and will be out to agents. 

  ** As an example, Leigh Gilmore, author of The Limits of Autobiography, notes that "...[T]he number of new English language volumes categorized as 'autobiography or memoir' roughly tripled from the 1940s to the 1990s. (Analysis based on data from the Worldcat database). See p. 1, footnote 1 of her book, Cornell University Press, 2001.

· *** David Shields, Reality Hunger, "412' John Berger, p. 139; '421,' David Foster Wallace, p. 141, Alfred A. Knopf, 2010.

· **** Lee K. Abbott, "Fifty Years of Puerto Del Sol," Puerto Del Sol, Vol, 50, 2015, p. 194.

· ***** David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art and Fear, Capra Press 1997 p. 89.

· ****** Mary L. Tabor, The Woman Who Never Cooked, Mid-list Press, 2006. Mary L. Tabor, The Woman Who Never Cooked, 2nd edition, Outer Banks Publishing Group, 2013.

· ******* "Inspiration and Obsession in Life and Literature," Joyce Carol Oates, New York Review of Books, August 13, 2015.


Questions and comments welcome. A PayPal button (top right), if you like what you've read, any donation would help. Also: Do note that for some reason, if you are on Safari, comments appear to be disabled (a Safari problem).  So, use Chrome to comment or ask me a question and sign into Google or Chrome first so that I know who you are! I guess Apple and Google are not getting along? Who knows? ... and, if anyone does, please let me know. 


If you want one-on-one help, I offer, for a small  fee, via Zoom, a compressed SEVEN-session course with slides and more experiments than in these chapters I am giving away for free. 


email me at mltabor@me.com


I taught variations of this course at George Washington University, in the undergraduate and graduate MFA/Ph.D. creative writing program at the University of Missouri and at the Smithsonian's Campus-on-the-Mall. For more about me, Click Here 



Chapter TWO coming soon ....

13 comments:

  1. Great chapter, so true and helpful for a writer. You were the first writer to help me realize that fiction would be the only way for me to get my truth, a truth out. I know there is much more truth in "Jeanne" than any thesis or biography can dish out. I didn't have a clue beforehand. Thanks again, Mary.

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    1. Isabelle, You were a terrific and insightful student in the full intensive course: A joy to work with. Thank you, here, for taking the time to tell me and others. xo Mary

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  2. The comparisons you make between your stories that are memoir and fiction illustrate such important insights. Truth is so much more than documentation. This is thought-provoking and illustrative writing, Mary. Thank you for posting it.

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    1. What a grand comment. Thank you and I hope you'll continue reading: Chapter 2, going up next week, perhaps after I do a YouTube video on my channel, about the course. You may also follow this website via the follow link in the right margin. In any case, grateful here for your read. --Mary

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    2. Hi Mary. I'm not sure why my comment doesn't have my name on it there, but just so you know, that was me. Will be watching out for your YouTube video.
      Shannon

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    3. Hi, Shannon, I have found that I can only comment on Chrome and when I am signed in to Google or Chrome. Then Chrome recognizes my identity. I will add a note about this problem with Safari (can't comment via Safari) on the this post and all others. --Mary

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  3. Hi Mary,Shannon
    the cover is beautiful. Well done.
    Isabelle

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    1. A WOW for Shannon, and an xo and big thank you to Isabelle, who also took the intensive one-on-one course. --Mary

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  4. I also, as the "unknown" commentator above noted, as I was reading "stories more truthful than memoirs." A friend mentioned to be recently that she is fascinated by people who remember facts, names, dates, etc. She said, I do not remember any of this. I only remember my emotions. If in fact, the "hard" data is questionable as is our memory (do we remember what we experienced or what someone said we experienced? do we remember the actual facts or how these facts made us feel?), then what exactly is a memoir?

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    1. Such an insightful comment, llana, that provokes discussion and I do hope others will weigh in. In Chapter one of Write It!, I am in no way suggesting that the choice should be fiction over memoir. Here’s a point I haven’t made yet: When we write either, story must be chosen over chronology. Once we attempt to relate the events of the past, by necessity a narrative and a form evolve from that attempt. And some element of fact must suffer. I am also indicating that “fact,” meaning not an event such as a birth or death that can be recorded, but instead the reflective meaning or even sequence of events not so easily recorded, is not easy to define as each of us sees the past and its events through her own lens. Much more to to talk about on his subject.

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  5. Thank you, Mary. I have recently become involved in "tracing where I came from" and "who I am," including my relationships with my sister, who is eight years older than I am. Based on my conversations with one of my cousins, he recalled going for a walk with my sister and me in a stroller. I cried so much that my sister picked a pillow and placed it on my head to make me shut up. After all, she was just eight years old. When I shared this nugget with my sister, she said, No, I never did it! It was Dov (our cousin). But who did it is hardly relevant; the emotion remains. This emotion is not about my feelings because, of course, I have no idea if I even felt "an emotion," but the fact of our selective memories based on our emotions or emotions of those who shared these memories with us. So, yes, the lens is my own, or is it?

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    1. Exactly, and your last line, as I love to say: That is the question! So much to discuss and so glad you joined this group: You are a terrific addition. --Mary

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  6. Checking to see if Safari will let me comment.

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