Do I have to have my shit together to be a good writer?
Claire Messud definitely has her shit together.
I just finished reading her book The Burning Girl; I’d seen her talk at Wordstock last weekend (see my next post on that subject!), and was intrigued. I was not disappointed. Now, I have to read all of her books, beginning with the The Woman Upstairs.
I’ll not go into a review-like post of Burning Girl because, at this early point in my fiction career, I read to extract ideas for my own work.
As I do, Messud obviously loves character and story in her fiction. She describes the details of lives and bodies so you feel you know her actors intimately. And her story is dramatic. She pulls you along, so you’re turning pages, staying up too late to read the next chapter, finishing too soon.
Where we differ is this: She writes so smart. So philosophical. As if this bright teenage girl were trying to figure out the meaning of life as we read along.
Her message, that we can superimpose reality on chaos; that a lot of reality is just “acting,” is not so far from mine – You could replace “acting” with dancing, and you’d almost have my theme.
But where I get lost is in any passages that look like preaching, philosophizing, teaching, telling. Am I over-resistant to those passages because of my background? Do I want to argue and protest when people tell me what I should think about a story or characters?
Yep.
So, thank you Claire. In a way, you have shown me how I am as a writer: A huge show-off. Full of smoke and mirrors. My readers must make what they will of my stories and characters, because I am not going to tell them my intent. That is how life is. You come into it, you love it or hate it, make of it what you Will.
So, to answer the opening question: Maybe. But I don't. I’m going to write anyway.
Claire Messud definitely has her shit together.
I just finished reading her book The Burning Girl; I’d seen her talk at Wordstock last weekend (see my next post on that subject!), and was intrigued. I was not disappointed. Now, I have to read all of her books, beginning with the The Woman Upstairs.
I’ll not go into a review-like post of Burning Girl because, at this early point in my fiction career, I read to extract ideas for my own work.
As I do, Messud obviously loves character and story in her fiction. She describes the details of lives and bodies so you feel you know her actors intimately. And her story is dramatic. She pulls you along, so you’re turning pages, staying up too late to read the next chapter, finishing too soon.
Where we differ is this: She writes so smart. So philosophical. As if this bright teenage girl were trying to figure out the meaning of life as we read along.
Her message, that we can superimpose reality on chaos; that a lot of reality is just “acting,” is not so far from mine – You could replace “acting” with dancing, and you’d almost have my theme.
But where I get lost is in any passages that look like preaching, philosophizing, teaching, telling. Am I over-resistant to those passages because of my background? Do I want to argue and protest when people tell me what I should think about a story or characters?
Yep.
So, thank you Claire. In a way, you have shown me how I am as a writer: A huge show-off. Full of smoke and mirrors. My readers must make what they will of my stories and characters, because I am not going to tell them my intent. That is how life is. You come into it, you love it or hate it, make of it what you Will.
So, to answer the opening question: Maybe. But I don't. I’m going to write anyway.