Just stopping by a moment to let you all know you are dearly missed.
My head is swimming in information and I’ve broken up with my book. For now.
There’s no room in my head. I’ve given up on the novels for Franzen’s new book of essays which I’m thoroughly enjoying, but as you all know, I love Franzen.
He isn’t politically correct, but he writes honestly as he sees the world to be. I may not agree with it, but I respect the hell out of a writer who calls himself on his own bullshit years after the fact. He is human to me.
Being away from my book and reading his essays has given me in a short period of time a bit of a new perspective. I’m calling my story into question: Is it honest? Truly, gut-level honest? Is it a story worth telling, a story worth pulling the reader away from her IPad, her Instant Messaging, her Facebook, watching her kids play soccer or go to swim lessons? Is a story that can transport?
Is it honest?
Perhaps that’s why I enjoy him as much as I do. I may disagree vehemently with some of his thoughts, but I find that when I do, it’s because I’m looking for a fight. If I follow his thoughts through, removing the chip from my shoulder, I see what he’s getting at more times than not.
And on that note, may your writing be brilliant, crystalline, and above all as honest as you can make it.
Love.
This post on honest writing (and the topic of Franzen in general*) has me thinking about honest reading. Is it ridiculous that I find that to be a thing? When I’m reading I sometimes quiz myself on why I’m doing so. Do I believe this story, or am I convincing myself? Am I really enjoying it, or am I trying to? If I’m not enjoying it – is it because I’m being challenged, or because I’m reading something that others have pushed toward me, but is not really my kind of stuff. Is is okay that I like/dislike this work?
I find that really being honest about what I LIKE to consume (and not just what is “good reading”) helps me to have faith in my own voice when I finally sit down to create.
*I think this is because I’m not a huge Franzen fan, myself – but I sometimes think I “should” be. Silly.
Really intriguing. Recently when going through all of the wonderful recommendation books that people gave me, I came up against the same thing. I’d be reading, then rereading, a paragraph, a page, a chapter and it just wasn’t singing to me. But I felt that I should like it. Like maybe I wasn’t giving it enough, that I wasn’t up to the challenge as if because I respected the recommender, I should inherently learn to love the book the way they do.
So, so silly.
It’s like when an old, dear friend of yours (this happened to me more than once. Probably says more about me than them…) says that you just have to meet a new friend of theirs, you will just LOVE them, yadda, yadda. You meet them and just have no idea what your friend was thinking. More times than not when I’ve been in that situation, my friend has later said, “Don’t you love her? She reminds me so much of you!”
GAH!
The point is, no, we get to love what we love and every once and awhile someone hits that very small target bullseye. Most times, it’s like dating. For every hundred that didn’t do it for you, there were the few that did in a big way.
I wrote a story about two 17-year-olds recently, and since I’m a long way from being 17 any longer, I was most concerned with whether or not it was true. Or honest, as you’re saying. Certainly the events of the story, and the characters, are true within the context of the story I created. What happens in the story is true enough, but are they true 17-year-olds? Do they think and feel and react truthfully. I anguished about that a long time. I had several people read it who could bring perspective, and I made changes as a result, but getting that part right is something I think about a lot.
Yes, writing truthfully for the age of the character and the age that they’re in. I’ve been at war with this myself, finding that the character is too similar from her young self to her old self. For me though, I think it symptomatic of a larger issue. Maybe the time away will enlighten me.
“I’ve broken up with my book for now.” I know it was hard, but you did the right thing. That book deserved it, deserved to be dumped — at least for awhile — to give you the time and distance you need to think. It’s hard to see what’s wrong in an intimate relationship when you’re in it, so good for you for getting out. You need your space. For now. I’m guessing you’ll kiss and make up when the time is right.
P.S. Franzen. I know it’s not politically correct to like him, but dammit I love my Franzen these days. Just like you said, I may not agree with every single thing he says, but I’m awed by how the man’s mind works and by his used of language. * swoon *
I just started reading Freedom. I found it on the clearance table and was determined to not like it, but I do. It was a nice surprise.
That’s it, Deb. I think that he isn’t everyone’s cup of tea for many reasons, but the man knows how to construct a smart sentence and if you’ve read The Corrections you know that Chip with the fish down his pants is comic genius. At least to me, but I loved Laurel and Hardy.
I think the more backlash Franzen got, the more I liked him. He never stooped to rationalize his behavior but rather continued to write. We could all learn something from that.
You are making me like him more. I (er, um) haven’t really read him. But the way people write about him/review him/talk about him offering a universal experience pisses me off. Er, I guess that isn’t his fault. Damnit! And he was one of my favorite targets too.
I don’t write reliable characters doing straightforward things . . . but I’d like to think that there’s truth in there somewhere and that the characters are honest in their dishonesty?
Matching up people with book they might like is a tricky business—trust me.
“honest in their dishonesty”. When this is done right, it’s brilliant. Back to another of my absolute favorites, Confederacy of Dunces, the main character is ridiculous and lies like a master criminal. However…the honesty behind his lies, fantastically brilliant. His hero worship of a senile old woman in his office job goes down as another of my favorites. He decides that her senility is a cover-up for her attempt at taking over the company. I’ve read that book more than any other and I still don’t know if he is aware of his own delusions. So great.
(More to your taste though, the mob is notoriously dishonest, yet the undercurrent of loyalty and honesty to each other…writing that with truth is a gift.)
Because I’ve had way too much therapy and this feels like the right thing to do, today I will play the part of your book.
Lyra,
I’m so very sorry we had to part ways for now. I know you love me. I know you loved our relationship and I know how difficult it is to balance me with all the other aspects of your life. I think it’s time you took a breather from me for a bit. Spend some time finding yourself somewhere else for awhile. it will be good for you–for both of us. When you are ready (and you will be eventually), I will still be here.
Your loving novel
ha.
see? way too much therapy. at least i didn’t put you in a chair and your book on the couch facing the chair and ask you to have a conversation with it. “tell the book how it made you feel when it did that to you as a child.”
today i an considering blogging again. i think it has been more than a month. a month! where’s my head been—i guess we’ll see should i finally login. (write something, write something, write something…)
being honest in my writing (and reading) has proven to be my most difficult challenge. you know what chapter i love best from that franzen book–the one where he confronts the need for every writer to be loyal to themselves. (“but it’s so hard,” says the whiny, puny writer in me that is afraid.”that’s what she said,” says me to her.)
now that i’ve went completely schizo on here. i’ll leave you be. have a wonderful friday.
Love this.
But we must understand, I don’t think my book is that reasonable. I picture it behaving like a petulant child (or one of my real life ones throwing themselves on the stairs rather than simply going up to take a bath…uggh, really? I mean REALLY? But I digress…) stomping his feet, trying to grab my attention with thin, ugly, plot points. The little bastard.
Art is a lie that makes us realize truth. That’s what Picasso said. Storytellers aim for larger truths in my opinion not ernest honesty.
Picasso had a point. There is line-by-line truth, and there is the deeper, more profound truth. Lie your ass off as long as doing so keeps the excavation in progress.
I’ve taken a few weeks off from serious writing myself, something I was terrified to do before now in case I lost my voice (?!) or found I could live without the angst. Turns out I’m still addicted, and still sound the same. You will too.
Oh Averil. Your voice is so distinctive, you couldn’t lose it even if trapped in an office job in the middle of Vegas. I imagine the time off only gave you more strength and tension. At this rate, you won’t even need the plant waterer job!
There are worse things than being earnest, in my opinion. To earnestly search out honesty one must look beyond their own pride (surely being earnest isn’t a favorable trait) and prostrate themselves before their book, open to what it can become as opposed to what it is.
I don’t think it’s an either/or scenario.
My novel and I have been on the outs for several months now – we’ve hardly spoken – and today I’ve decided a legal separation is needed. Time for a few flings with short stories and see what happens there.
Pete,
The short story fling is sounding very, very sexy right about now. Well, that is if I were not the sort of person who needs a thousand words just to get the character through the door.
Yesterday I broke up with my book club.
Some things are just meant to be.
To your own self be true.
Long time coming for that nutso book club. Huzzah!
I’ve missed you, glad you’re back!