Yours, Mine, and Ours
In the comments section of the last post, I started thinking about when writing changes from a private entity to a public one.
I always wanted to be a writer--but I didn't necessarily want to share my writing. I filled up pads of paper and journals and notebooks with thoughts and stories and poems and doodles. The occasional watercolor. About half the time, I ripped my writing to shreds, thinking I sucked. I started writing . . . well, probably around third grade. By middle school, I had full-fledged short stories. By high school, they were getting dark and "writerly," and I was fascinated by F. Scott and Zelda. By college, I was getting published in my school lit magazine (a GOD AWFUL story). Post-college, I was in some literary magazines, and was routinely getting poems published, usually in feminist magazines and newspapers with tiny circulations.
But it all was fairly private. For every piece I sent out to literary magazines, there were thousands upon thousands of words I never shared. They were mine.
I wrote a novel. Started another. Abandoned it. Wrote Spanish Disco. Watched it sell in a matter of months. Even then, my writing didn't feel "public." I had a 16-month or so wait until publication. In that time, I wrote--and sold--three more novels. And then, finally, it became this public thing.
I was surprised at how much I didn't particularly like that. I mean, I was very proud to have my name on a cover, and I was somehow thrilled to hold a BOOK, my BOOK in my hands. But it didn't really change how I felt about writing. In fact, as I met so many great people . . . I also would stumble across a mean-spirited blog or two. I stopped Googling my name. I mean, literally stopped, at least a year or so ago. Maybe two or more. I just . . . felt this weird reaction when writing became public. It was suddenly as if these PRIVATE thoughts were shared.
Think about it. A lifetime of writing for only yourself. Years and years of private scribblings. And now?
The blog is different. The blog is my Happy Hour and psychotherapy couch and coffee pals all rolled into one. It's friendship and solidarity. It's where I wander through my musings about writing. But it's not the writing itself.
Lately . . . I think I pursue quieter hobbies I don't share. I think I seek out solitary things. I don't share a lot in my personal life. At all. I don't tell people I'm a writer. There are many reasons why. But I think some of it is finding my way between what's mine and what I want to share. How to put bits of me into fiction without it seeming like I am giving away my secrets or pieces of me.
If you are published . . . or plan to be . . . it's part of your journey. Maybe some crave the limelight. I don't. And even those who do may be surprised. The sharing thing . . . the public arena . . . may not be what you think it will be.
Thoughts?
I always wanted to be a writer--but I didn't necessarily want to share my writing. I filled up pads of paper and journals and notebooks with thoughts and stories and poems and doodles. The occasional watercolor. About half the time, I ripped my writing to shreds, thinking I sucked. I started writing . . . well, probably around third grade. By middle school, I had full-fledged short stories. By high school, they were getting dark and "writerly," and I was fascinated by F. Scott and Zelda. By college, I was getting published in my school lit magazine (a GOD AWFUL story). Post-college, I was in some literary magazines, and was routinely getting poems published, usually in feminist magazines and newspapers with tiny circulations.
But it all was fairly private. For every piece I sent out to literary magazines, there were thousands upon thousands of words I never shared. They were mine.
I wrote a novel. Started another. Abandoned it. Wrote Spanish Disco. Watched it sell in a matter of months. Even then, my writing didn't feel "public." I had a 16-month or so wait until publication. In that time, I wrote--and sold--three more novels. And then, finally, it became this public thing.
I was surprised at how much I didn't particularly like that. I mean, I was very proud to have my name on a cover, and I was somehow thrilled to hold a BOOK, my BOOK in my hands. But it didn't really change how I felt about writing. In fact, as I met so many great people . . . I also would stumble across a mean-spirited blog or two. I stopped Googling my name. I mean, literally stopped, at least a year or so ago. Maybe two or more. I just . . . felt this weird reaction when writing became public. It was suddenly as if these PRIVATE thoughts were shared.
Think about it. A lifetime of writing for only yourself. Years and years of private scribblings. And now?
The blog is different. The blog is my Happy Hour and psychotherapy couch and coffee pals all rolled into one. It's friendship and solidarity. It's where I wander through my musings about writing. But it's not the writing itself.
Lately . . . I think I pursue quieter hobbies I don't share. I think I seek out solitary things. I don't share a lot in my personal life. At all. I don't tell people I'm a writer. There are many reasons why. But I think some of it is finding my way between what's mine and what I want to share. How to put bits of me into fiction without it seeming like I am giving away my secrets or pieces of me.
If you are published . . . or plan to be . . . it's part of your journey. Maybe some crave the limelight. I don't. And even those who do may be surprised. The sharing thing . . . the public arena . . . may not be what you think it will be.
Thoughts?
posted by Erica Orloff at 7:26 PM
25 Comments:
Erica,
Your posts are so relevant and thought-provoking. Well, maybe not so much thought-provoking as thought-acknowledging. You write what I'm thinking!
To date my published works are essays and articles. People seem to like them, I get great feedback. They are first-person personal pieces that are as stated - personal. I think you'll understand that even with those, I'm a very private person. To let out those bits, I keep many more bits to myself. The public writer expresses herself in one way on certain topics - the private person is quiet.
When (optimism) my novel is published I imagine there will be lots of speculation about my life - what's true and what's not etc. The reason I did not write a memoir is so that I can make up my story even though I'm fitting it into the parameters of a situation that is similar to my own.
I got slammed by some readers who "didn't believe" one of my articles. It was an opinion piece in a major newspaper -- and I promised after that I wouldn't read the comments to the online version of the paper.
How do you maintain your privacy when your words are public? I think I overcompensate. My fingers type, my lips stay shut about my life.
Interesting, in general I think that American society seem to be publicity seeking junkies. I mean just look at the crazy number of people lining up in massive lines to be on ridiculous reality shows. But writing is different, writing is personal, it is a part of you. And yet at the same time a writer can be private, not the same level of fame as a movie star, unless you are JK Rowling. I don't seek publicity and fame. I seek people to read my book because I do want people to read it and enjoy it and tell me my book meant something to me. Maybe it is ego but it is what I strive for. Not publicity more appreciation.
Given that privacy is inversely proportional to sales, I welcome the glass house.
Your posts are so relevant and thought-provoking.
Ditto. Every time.
Hi Amy:
Oh, I didn't tell you my other talent? I'm psychic! ;-)
And yeah . . . it's a weird transition from private to public, especially since many writers start when they are kids and they start with journals.
E
Hi ello:
American society puzzles me in that regard. I have no interest in spilling my life for fame. I wouldn't write a memoir (NOT that my life is interesting enough for one). And even memoir . . . fascinating art form but by nature "putting yourself out there."
As for writers and fame, here's the thing. What I didn't expect . . . is that I am so NOT famous, but once you publish a book, while you think, as you just commented that it's about sharing something and people enjoying it, it doesn't become that. It can become a point of discussion, or jealousy, or criticism, or praise, or prying.
True story . . . when I wrote The Roofer, I got some really amazing reviews. But then I got this one really horrible review at an online book site--so horrible, in fact, that an actual reader and reviewer from another site (whom I did not know) felt the need to write to the OWNER of the site to say the reviewer had to have a grudge or some personal dysfunction because the person could not have read the book and come up with that review. But then it turned out the reviewer was a born-again Christian, and she disliked the sexuality in the book (incest and rape). She didn't state that at the outset of her review. She just skewed the review in a really weird way. Now, it's not that the bad review bugs me--it's just to make the point that the "yours, mine, and ours" mean people can bring their own "stuff" to the reading and it's not necessarily what you envision.
E
stephen:
Gracias.
Now stop posting Hallmark stuff that makes me cry on your site. ;-)
E
That's definitely something that makes me nervous about being published. Some people are so critical! And I've seen how possessive some people can be about their favorite authors, books, etc. It's part of the reason why I blog. My blog gets my writing out there, in public. Sure, it's not my book, but it's still a reflection of me. It's still my words and my personality. As for not Googling yourself, that sounds like a good plan. I only hope I'm strong enough to resist if/when I'm published.
caryn:
When I was first published, I Googled. Then I found really gross sexual comments on some writer site, with some wacko commenting on and on about me--someone I didn't know who was making these comments from a photo--what he wanted to do to me, so to speak. The whole thing made me so queasy, I vowed never to Google again. I don't need to know what's going on out there in cyberspace where everyone with a you-know-what has an opinion. I like my little blog world--safe, friendly, my own little corner.
E
I confess that interacting with readers--and yes readers, I love you, don't take this wrong--can sometimes disconcert me. Positive or negative, I'm like, "Oh, there are people out there. And they have, like, OPINIONS."
I of course love the, "I read your book and it was great, when's the next one coming out." Although I often feel like I'm at some social gathering where everyone's speaking a different language.
Occasionally I'll get somebody who feels the need to criticize or point out something they didn't like or that they feel I did wrong and I'm even more at a loss as to how... well, not how I should respond. I respond politely or not at all, either with an, "Thanks for your response."
But how am I supposed to FEEL about these odd bits of praise or criticism from the ether? Who the hell are they talking to?
Now, as a NF writer, I occasionally get people coming to me, apparently feeling that I'm an expert on the subject I wrote about. I try to be helpful, but neither do I necessarily try to pass myself off as an expert on, say, insurance, or the clinical lab industry (although, I suppose after you've written a half-dozen book-length reports and literally dozens of articles on a subject, maybe you ARE an expert), but it an be disconcerting when they want MORE.
It's not something I dislike, exactly, but it often puzzles and confuses me, or as I say, disconcerted, perhaps because it's a realization that your work--fiction or nonfiction--sometimes takes on a life of its own once you send it out into the world.
Mark:
That's it . . . it leaves the confines of your little world where you nurtured it . . . and takes on its own life, for better or worse.
E
Everything about my journey has been so blessed and well-timed. I am grateful every day. I've learned even the hard lessons in safe stages, in small places.
Pseudonym is a strange case. With her, she's published everything she wrote, save one story. It was all an accident.
I, too, wish there was a manual out there for interacting with reader email. I've learned, but ... it's a strange relationship. I always feel like they know SO much more about me than I know about them, that they have this relationship with my stories that's deep and real, and yet they are mostly a stranger to me.
I regret putting my real name on my blog, simply because when I was just SpyScribbler, I could be completely honest and just express my feelings. Now everything needs to be filtered through what-if-a-student-or-parent-sees?
I have installed an aftermarket filter, but it just doesn't work as well as factory-installed, LOL.
All these little microsteps have allowed me to learn and understand in a way that's best for me, I guess. Even teaching, having to always maintain a certain "image" to the community has given me the foundation in ... whatever. Having to not defend myself when a parent starts warping a story is annoying, but I do it because I won't talk about a child, even if it means I look bad.
I've watched others try to struggle with it, like poor Tess Gerritsen, God bless her, at the moment, and all I can do is take notes, just in case.
It's all a sort of separate thing, you know, the public thing. It's not real. The relationships that come of it, are, but the rest is just a thing out there. So far, at least.
Hi Spy:
I find Tess G. refreshingly honest on her blog . . . and the whole thing is yet another reason why I just try to mind my own business. The way people pounce on authors who take a mis-step, with this sort of self-righteous indignation (remember the whole Shomi author/costume thing?) . . . it's insane. There's REAL problems in the world. 99% of the people commenting should just get the f*ck over themselves.
I have no interest in becoming a household name. Drain-O is a household name, you know? I want to sell lots of books, but I don't want to sacrifice my privacy in the process. Isn't that kind of like selling your soul to the Devil? I think it's possible to be a bestseller and still maintain whatever degree of privacy you want. The play's the thing, I think. That and a little luck along the way.
Jude:
Well . . . I'm not really even talking about that. I would love to be a household name. I'm actually really talking about what Mark said. There's a process of sending your private work out into the public world. The Tess G. situation . . . she's abandoning her blog for now . . . is one example.
E
Just read Mark's comment and yours. That's an interesting discussion, too. I've always been in the "art is in the eye of the beholder" camp.
When I perform, I "listen" to the audience. I pull them in, and I feel like they are a part of the music-making process as much as me. (I know that sounds silly, but ... it is what it is, as you say.) So I feel about readers the same way. They are part of it. To me, they're one-half of the equation. My story is really only the setting for their emotional experience.
Not saying I think one way is better than another at ALL. I can list several musicians who play very privately, even while performing. Every one hushes and leans forward to hear--it's spellbinding and amazing. It's a power of storytelling, too. (Is it inevitable that I see every subject in context of another? Sheesh.)
Hi Spy:
I have an imaginary reader (not half the equation, though). I weave my stories for someone other than myself. But there's still this very bizarre thing to let it go into the wider world.
E
I think maybe it's a matter of separating yourself from your product, and I understand that that is more difficult for some than others.
To me, my book is a commodity. I, however, am not. My kid is not.
I'm thinking seriously about publishing under a pseudonym, so just in case (not likely, I know) I do become a household name I won't have to deal with all the crap that follows a little fame.
Hi Jude;
I think some of it probably hinges on how distant your real life is from the work. Some criticism or being "out there" bothers me much less than others.
E
Erica, this post is so timely. It's very much how I feel. No one knew I wrote novels, except for a handful of people, for many years. When I stepped out into the public cyber-waves it was through Magical. I was surrounded by friends, and felt safe on the group blog. Out of necessity, when I sold, I included a personal website. I still, like you, don't want to give too much of me away. I'm open, but not terribly detailed. I want to stay grounded, and I'm definitely not in it for the limelight. LOL. I'll save that for those that crave it! I want my stories read, and want to meet readers. Beyond that, I don't dwell.
I used to be a closet writer but as my writing has crept out into the light I no longer worry much or care that bits of me are exposed in the words I create.
Writing has made me a more open person than I ever would be otherwise. Guess i see it that certain sacrifices must be made in order to achieve my goals.
Hi Ladonna:
That's pretty close to my feelings.
E
Hi Travis:
I agree . . . there are elements of writing that push us out into the world.
E
These are definitely things to think about. Sometimes I think it's the "publicness" that holds me back the most. A part of me desperately wants to be published and have a "writing career" but another part of me cringes at the thought of my stuff "out there."
Zoe:
It's the downside of being published, I think. You get used to it, I guess. But sometimes, it's not fun.
E
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