“That nigger over there…” the words spilled out of the fair-skinned 11-year-old’s mouth like tar. They made their way around Frank dining hall, sweeping up a variety of college students, utensils, and brightly colored coffee mugs in their cleansing, black hole mass.
A soft-serve ice cream machine. The man who flips the pancakes. An entire salad bar of chick peas and unripe tomatoes. Tray after tray after tray meant for balancing plates and bowls.
They all disappeared with her words–disintegrating into my perfect perception of childhood, my ideal association of being young and being good.
*
I am using this anecdote–an actual narrative from my own past–as an example.
Part of writing is that we must put down on paper information and knowledge about tough times. This is mostly because, well, writing about happiness gets kind of boring…
Flaws are part of life. I am very much flawed–and this is part of why I write: to make sense of these flaws. But sometimes (maybe more often than I realize), I write to make sense of other people’s flaws. Usually, I don’t write about you unless I care about you whole-heartedly–unless I care enough to WANT (no, NEED) to make sense of the push and pulls of someone’s character, the things they’ve encountered throughout their lifetime.
The problem is, the people I love and hence write about aren’t just characters on a page. They are humans that I am deeply connected to, that I rely on, and that rely on me…
Writing unflattering things about people you love is never, ever easy. I am constantly worried about hurting, offending, isolating. I get so self-conscious writing about my family and friends. (I’m even self-conscious writing this post. “What do you mean, unflattering???” I imagine someone will question me at Passover seder.)
Truth and Beauty is a Memoir by Ann Patchett about Lucy Grealey–author of the acclaimed Autobiography of a Face.
“She portrayed Lucy horribly, and then profited off this depiction…” was the general consensus among my nonfiction class.
Then, a peer pointed out something with a pretty intense vigor: “It’s near IMPOSSIBLE to portray a drug addict in a positive light.”
The thing is, if you look closely, Patchett does balance out Lucy’s flaws with positive. I mean, she was her best friend, for God’s sake.
*
I know there’s a simple balance to writing unflattering things about people you love–emphasize the positive, the uncontrollable circumstances, contrast with better times, have them overcome in the end, show their vulnerability. I write fiction, too–I know the tricks to making a character relatable and endearing.
The 11-year-old at the top of this post did in fact say the n-word to me. She is a sheltered child from an occasionally ignorant family. But she was energetic, wide-eyed, and lovable, nonetheless. As a child, this is easier to show on the page.
I don’t think I’ll ever get over the uneasiness of trying to write even *somewhat* negative things about people I love. Some days, it’s so difficult that I want to ditch personal narrative and memoir writing altogether. I feel as if the task I have chosen is more difficult than I can handle. I want my readers to love the people I write about as much as I do, to see their flaws and accept them with open arms.
In a phrase, the pressure’s on.
If only I could write about honey-dew melon or vacuum cleaners. Then, I wouldn’t really have to worry much at all.
How do you deal with this part of the process? Any tips or tricks? Or do you avoid writing about loved ones altogether?
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Twitter: alexisgrant
February 24, 2010 at 5:58 pm
This is really hard. Because the people we love are far more important than our writing, right?
Here’s how I deal with it: I write what I want, get it out on paper, knowing it might be embarrassing or hurtful to myself or others. I can do this because no one will read it. It’s just my first draft.
Then I go back through the piece or the chapter or the book and look at it all through the prism you just gave us, asking whether it’s okay to print. Do I need to soften anything so I don’t hurt anyone? Can I do that without messing up the story?
In the end, it’s a balance. But I think writing without thinking about all that to begin with serves us well.
I appreciate you sharing your insights on this. The people ARE more important than our writing…and I hate when the writing implies otherwise.
I think editing yourself is important in these situations, and it’s nice to know you go through again looking through that prism of consequence and impact. Also, it’s helpful for me to understand that I’m not the only one who struggles with this in such a big and intense way. Thanks again for sharing.
So interesting I read this today. I don’t have the answers yet, but it’s something I’ve been pondering lately.
In my recent pit bull piece on matadorchange, I wrote that my prejudice against pit bulls began with my parents. I almost took that part out, but I wanted to be transparent. If I had said something else it would have been a lie and if I had left it out I might have missed an opportunity to connect with readers.
Thankfully, my mom was completely cool about it. She ended up writing a beautiful comment for the piece and we talked on the phone about my not wanting to call her out, but just being honest. She thought it was great and recognized that she had, in fact, been prejudiced and has changed her opinions about pit bulls just as I have.
You’re so right about flaws. They make life interesting…and real. And like you said, “I want my readers to love the people I write about as much as I do, to see their flaws and accept them with open arms.”
I’m still need to grow some cajones if I think about writing more memoir type material. When it comes to writing unflattering things about the people you love, I just hope that the people I love will recognize I love them as a whole, flaws and all…
Thanks for a great, though-provoking post.
Nancy, I appreciate this comment and especially your experience with the pit bull prejudice article so very much. Even if you’re just being honest, you never know how people will interpret things… Actually, in my last Matador article I mention–literally mention–my Nana. All I say is that I used to trace the lines in her face…but for some reason, this translates into me freaking out that she would be mad I was telling the world about her wrinkles. I kid you not that I’m SUPER nervous and conscious about these issues.
It’s so happy and nice to hear that your Mom was supportive
Flaws do make life interesting and I think the people we love will understand that and *hopefully* understand that they make reality and writing have some depth.
Thanks for a great, thought-provoking comment!
You touched on an issue that’s really close to me. When I was in high school, I attended the creative writing program of the Governor’s School for the Arts. Though my specialty was poetry, we had to take a fiction class, too. I’d never liked fiction (still don’t, really), and so I wrote a story that was not so loosely based on my family’s own life. My father was deeply offended, walked out of the reading I had to give, and brooded about it for a long time.
I recently wrote on Cuaderno Inedito, “My father taught me that fiction was dangerous.” I didn’t even know my dad knew about that blog, but he did, and when he read that, he was really enraged all over again. He wrote a long, passionately angry email that troubled me a lot. But I replied by telling him I was simply writing my truth– that it was a truth, not necessarily THE truth, and that I’d never intended to hurt him. I also told him that my writing what I did wasn’t a value judgment- it was simply a statement of what I believed to be true. It was a really painful exchange to have, but one that was necessary (at least for me). Though I’ll admit I’m still very conscious about writing about my family.
Julie, I really appreciate you sharing this experience. It’s such a touchy subject, and you really never know how people will react when you write about them. It’s really interesting to me that your father also commented on the dangerous sentence from your blog–a blog you didn’t even know he read! It’s kind of a lose-lose situation for us. You lose if you don’t write the truth–because it’s more interesting. And you lose if you do–when you risk offending/hurting someone you had no intention to do so. It’s so intriguing to me how different writers handle this, so I really really do appreciate you sharing this specific experience. I remain conscious about this too to a point of heightened tension–and it’s (in an odd way) comforting to know that other writers deal with it, as well.
This is something that I have struggled with deeply, Alyssa (as you well know). It’s absolutely something that a memoirist or personal essay-ist must deal with, but oftentimes, you don’t choose to write about those you love. You instinctively do it. You can’t help but write of them. I forget who said this, but her words were: “I didn’t choose memoir. It chose me.”
I think if a writer avoids writing about these things, she limits herself to what may be a great discovery about the self and those she loves.
Hi Kanitha,
I so appreciate you weighing in on this. I think part of me has always admired how intimately you’ve written about your family. After your reading I was just so damn impressed, but I thought, I don’t know if I could ever write about things that emotional or close to me…
Sometimes it’s easy to get lost in the words or themes and forget that every writer struggles with this. Reading the post about your Mom coming to visit was especially eye-opening and probably in some conscious or unconscious way prompted this post! I also love that idea of self-discovery through writing and think it’s absolutely true. Writing about people we love is a challenge, but one that pays off in the things we learn about them and ourselves.
Thanks for stopping by
Twitter: mandalove
March 4, 2010 at 7:32 pm
I struggle with this every single time I sit down to write something, especially if I know the offending (?) party is going to be reading it. I don’t worry so much in fiction but on my blog and in non-fiction, it’s especially difficult.
When you tremble to write it — when it really pains you to type it — that’s when you know that the piece is going to be important. Heart-wrenching and terrifying, but important.
Amanda’s last blog ..Happiness is not a fish you can catch. Nor is it a pant size.
We should make a graph: heart wrenching-ness of a piece vs. difficulty/anxiety in writing it. It’d be exponential, I’m quite sure.
It’s fitting for you to leave the first comment on the new diggs