There’s a Book in Everyone. Isn’t There?

Is there a book in you?

Absolutely. I think that everybody’s life has the thrilling components of a book. Think of the timeworn stories you drag up when you’re with family and old friends. Aren’t they funny, poignant, inspiring, exciting, nostalgic, etc.? Otherwise, why do you tell them? The possibility that you are a repetitive bore I will ignore since I know none of you are.

And, in the quiet moments of life, on a long car journey or just before you fall asleep, don’t reflections on life lived or should be lived come to you? Wishes, aspirations, wisdom, regrets and longings—all the stuff of novel or memoir.

So why does Carol Shields believe that it is a myth that there’s novel in everyone[1]?

Because she knows about people like Amanda.

Amanda

This is an honest-to-god conversation I had with a would-be author (given artistic license, of course).

“So, you’re interested in writing?” I asked. “Fiction or non-fiction?”

Amanda passed a hand through the recently revamped blackness of her hair. “Oh, either one.”

“Oh, well…articles or a long piece?”

She shrugged. “Novel, articles, whatever.”

“What are you working on now?”

Her eyebrows went up high. “I’ve got a full-time job. I couldn’t do anything now.”

Of course. “Have you ever taken a writing course?”

“Do you think I should?”

I made a deprecating little noise. “Writing takes a lot of craft.”

“Oh, really? Well, maybe I’ll do that.” She smiled. “So, should I get an agent first or go directly to publishers?”

“Ah…I think you need to write something first.”

She waved that away. “Of course. That’s not a problem.” She tapped the side of her head in a significant way. “It’s all up here.”

Great. When wordless novels are the new wave, she’ll be ahead of the curve.

She continued. “Should I publish through a regular publisher or on-line?”

“Actually, I think you need to write it first.”

“Can you deduct research trips?”

“I suppose, although the tax department needs proof that you’ve written—”

“What about car expenses? Mileage, gas, repairs, car washes?”

“Well, writers aren’t in cars a whole lot. They’re usually at a computer.”

“But you must have to meet with your agent and publisher—”

“It’s mostly done on-line—

“On-line…” she seemed disappointed but took it well.

I make one last effort. “Amanda, I think you can deal with all of this once you’ve written something.”

She waved it and me away. “But I need to be prepared. Because it’s all up here.”

Do you know how to bring it out?

So that’s why Carol Shields calls the book-in-everyone thing a myth. We all have the stories but sadly, that’s not enough. As it turns out, the skill of writing things down in an interesting way is completely different from those of a good raconteur.

You need the ideas and stories, yes, but you also need to master the craft of writing enough (ADV for this blog) to shape them into compelling reading. You also need the perseverance to stick with a lengthy and sometimes frustrating process. And, unlike our friend Amanda, you need the courage to begin.

If you need a bit of encouragement or nudging, you might want to read my posts, Do I Start the Story at the Beginning? Or How to Start an Autobiography or Memoir. To address the stick-with-it-ness that you will need, read The Muse and the Piano Tuner.

And for daring and audacity, don’t take my word for it but Winston Churchill’s

Courage is the first of human qualities, because it is the quality which guarantees all the others.

[1] Shields, Carol, Startle and Illuminate: Carol Shields on Writing Random House, Canada, 2006

What does self-censoring look like?

I was in a writing group with a woman writing about a personally difficult topic—meeting a long-lost relative. She wrote effectively about her fears and hopes for the encounter. And about her reactions to it. But nothing about the meeting itself. It was as if she closed the door to her readers on what was the emotional core of the story.

The problem is that this writer was surprised (and threatened and offended) when it was pointed out that she had written around the story rather than about it.

I get it, I do. And have some sympathy for the woman who seemed to have felt that depicting the meeting was a bridge too far. But you can see how her unconscious self-censoring affected the quality of her story-telling.

Holding back affects the quality of writing

I’ve written before of the tough necessity to appear naked on the page. Being embarrassingly, shamefully, and completely honest is the only way I know to achieve the emotional truth which readers recognize and respond to. Readers know if you are giving the straight goods even if you don’t. Being readers not writers, they don’t think, “She’s not emotionally honest.” More likely, they’ll say “I just couldn’t get into it.” And not read what you have to say.

Are you repressing your writing?

I think we all do a bit of self-censoring. To capture a real person on paper, we might change the hair color or leave out the most obvious tic or quirk.

But the real self-censorship comes which you find yourself thinking, I can’t say that! and write away from that spot. The fear of exposing yourself or hurting others can happen at any time but is very common in memoirs. Self-censorship is death to the creative process. Without knowing it, you avoid some topics and choose others. You write charming travel logs rather than the abuse at the time of the travel.

What if I’m going for charming?

Nothing wrong with then but, while they might provide light entertainment, they rarely stir a reader’s soul.

But more importantly, here’s the thing. In a way I don’t understand, my finished product is almost never as deep, affecting, true—whatever words you want to use—as originally hoped for. Many writers have that experience. The piece may be good, even very good, but there is almost always some indefinable way in which you had yearned for more.

So, if you start out aiming for shallow or good enough, you’ll end up with even less. And your readers will know it.

What can I do?

I wish I could be prescriptive or even descriptive, but mostly this consists of being able to be—hidden under covers or in the middle of a forest—honest about your work. Ask yourself questions like: are there moments where I have ducked the real issue? Or have I glossed over a messy bit because it seems too hard or painful to write?

If your aim is to be a better writer, allow yourself to fully immerse in the scene in question—allowing uncomfortable feelings to surface, staying with them rather than pushing away.

I’m not saying it’s easy but it’s the only route I know which ups the possibility that you are writing as truthfully as you can.

Tag: writer