… Back to the blurred line between fiction and nonfiction. I enjoyed the comments I received from searchers for truth after posting the first part of this short series. The following are a few extracted comments that hit home:
- I received a Goggle alert announcing my death
- The reality check has bounced
- I think humanity has for the most part lost the ability to confront the truth and instead seek escapism in any form
- Without truth, we’re crossing swaying bridges with no railings
- Buyer beware has grown into listener beware
- Tawdry “reality” that surrounds us today becomes the worst sort of lie
(This is a three-part series; for context, read part one, click here.)
First of all, I love literary fiction and read it voraciously – more than I read literary nonfiction, actually. I’m wondering if fiction is perhaps one of the most honest forms of writing after all. Fiction writers don’t pretend to tell the truth, but I believe their writing is based on seeking and portraying the truth about human nature. Fiction, by definition, is not based on fact, but on fabrication and the work of a darn good imagination. We only buy into fictional stories if and when the writer gives us believable characters with whom we can connect on an emotional level.
Nonfiction, with memoir being most dear to my heart, is supposed to be based in fact. Now, who said memory is made up of nothing but facts? I teach that it’s okay to use your imagination while writing memoir. And I say that the way in which you see the truth about people and events will be very different from how your sister, for example, will look at those same people and events. The whole matter becomes blurred to some degree by each person’s feelings, emotional posture, passion-set, and personal claim on each moment in time.
Both memoir and fiction, when skillfully written, “…[have] the ability to evoke the entire spectrum of human emotions to distract our minds, to give us hope in times of despair, to make us laugh, or to let us experience empathy without attachment.” (Quote from word iQ, regarding their definition of fiction. I chose to add memoir, because it, too, aptly fits the description.)
I remember reading a novel written by a woman I know socially. It was a lively story, entertaining, rife with emotion. While reading it, I began to believe she was the protagonist and this was the story of a portion of her life before I knew her, since many events fit what I knew about her colorful life. When next we talked, I mentioned something about what a brilliant little guy her son was, and I was curious as to what he was up to now, since I thought he surely would have turned out to be an astronaut or someone equally remarkable. Through a wry smile, she informed me that she didn’t have a son, in fact, no children at all, as planned. Turns out she was pleased that she’d written so convincingly about a son in her story that many readers believed he was hers – I wasn’t the only one caught in the snare of a talented writer. She had no intention to deceive, she’s a novelist. It was I who was reading fiction as nonfiction and loving every word of it!
I’ll move to a short post about the wiggly nature memoir next time. In the meantime, write a true tale about your dad for Father’s Day (June 20th). What could be better than to let him know you took the time to capture his character and spirit in a bio-vignette that only you can write?
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