Craft Notes
Did You Just Tell Me To Shut Up? – A Guest Post from Giancarlo Ditrapano
[The Tyrant sends his thoughts on the unpspeakable. Please enjoy. – BB]
“Most stuff that is genuine is better left unsaid.” This is from a letter written in 1993 by J.D. Salinger to his friend E. Michael Miller (for this story, go here). Sounds like old boy’s last plea, doesn’t it? That last line of the red one, you know: “Don’t tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” This thought occupies my mind past the point of it being healthy. There are so many things for me that I cannot write down, or will not write down. I have tried to write them down, and I have written them down, and hated myself afterwards for doing it.
This is someone I won't, can't, write about.
It’s the same with speech. There are so many things I can’t speak about, won’t speak about. I have tried to speak about them, and I have spoken about them, and hated myself afterwards for doing it. I don’t know how to categorize these untouchables for there is no common denominator that I can pin down. I am not talking about gossip or secrets. Forget all that shit. I’m talking about the times or thoughts or experiences that cannot be regaled, or feel like they shouldn’t be regaled (even though they could be regaled but you would just feel like shit afterwards because no matter how good it felt to tell it, once you’re done it always feels like you have just let go of a kite string). That bit of advice from Dorothy Parker (about how if you have an idea for a story, not to speak about it or it will lose its steam) has something to do with it, but not exactly. Or it’s like that feeling you feel in that span of time between the moment you hear some good news (Writers, insert “acceptance-letter joy” here) and the moment that you start blabbing your head off about it. As soon as you start communicating it, telling others about it, something disappears, doesn’t it? And there was something good about that something that disappeared, wasn’t there? It’s not exactly like, but is kind of like, how you and your good friend would never talk about how good of friends you are because the mere mention of you even being friends would cause your friendship to wither somehow.
Another thing that has something (but not everything) to do with it is how when a pitcher looks like he’s going to throw a no-hitter, there’s an unwritten rule that nobody mention the possibility of a no-hitter until it actually happens. What is this thing that all of these things touch on? Is it “sacred” or is it sacred or is it sacred? Let’s take one example: your family. Okay, so you have a great story about your family that is pretty fucked up, because your family is fucked up, but lots of people would probably enjoy to hear it (because people love that shit), so you write it, then you sell it to a publisher, even though it exposes the lives of you and your close ones and turns your life-experience, and the people within it, into fodder for your writing career (nasty, but it could be perceived that way). I enjoy them, but I always cringe at memoirs because it gets me thinking, “Poor Author, you are going to have to deal with all of these people reading about themselves and then their reactions.” Will it ever be the same between you and these people again? Have you broken a bond? Do they trust you anymore? Do they act themselves around you anymore? Or does it help “life” to write it out? We know it’s an entrance, but is it an exit? Is it trading off your “sacred”/sacred/sacred story for an unholy book deal? Or is it just telling the truth? Or is it telling the wrong truth? And, God Almighty, why wouldn’t you just avoid all of this mess and drape it in fiction (even though, unless you’re real good, they always figure that one out anyway)? Is it not as good of a story if it isn’t bio? I get the whole, “a writer writes what he has to write” but did you really have to write about that? I am queerly curious about this. This family thing was just one example, an aside, not the biggest, not the smallest.
He's got a gun
Back to Salinger: Did he figure out that the writing itself is all that matters and that publishing what you’ve written kind of ruins, or changes for the worse, what you’ve written (and what you’ve written about)? Or was he just a loon? I’m not saying this or that or it does or it doesn’t or he isn’t or he is. Really, I’m not. I have no idea. I’m not a writer. Not like that. I’m just asking writers like that. And I do think this applies to more than writing. I think there is something to this “holy” silence, but I just don’t know what it is. I want to hear some thoughts. I want to hear your thoughts. But before you begin, know that you are absolutely ruining everything by talking about/writing about/commenting on this. Okay, now let’s all ruin everything together.
(Sorry. God that was long. Oh, and Stephen Elliott is holding some kind of seminar on “Writing from Experience” on March 11th which I plan on attending so I can learn myself some shit and get back to you.)
[Giancarlo Ditrapano is the editor of the New York Tyrant, and Tyrant Books.]
Tags: being healthy, giancarlo ditrapano, J.D. Salinger
I love this post. Thank you, Giancarlo. J.D. is the best ever at what Ihab Hassan called “the rare Quixotic gesture” (from a book called “Salinger: A Critical and Personal Portrait”).
I love this post. Thank you, Giancarlo. J.D. is the best ever at what Ihab Hassan called “the rare Quixotic gesture” (from a book called “Salinger: A Critical and Personal Portrait”).
in a dope sick dream i once read a bukowski poem that touched on this. that poem was about something being gone from a writer after it has been written.
there are certain things i will not write about because i do not want to lessen them. my son for example.
but when i say lessen them, i mean lessen their image within the confines of my mind.
publication is not a process of writing and should be viewed as such.
in a dope sick dream i once read a bukowski poem that touched on this. that poem was about something being gone from a writer after it has been written.
there are certain things i will not write about because i do not want to lessen them. my son for example.
but when i say lessen them, i mean lessen their image within the confines of my mind.
publication is not a process of writing and should be viewed as such.
Thank you. Great post. And I couldn’t agree more that something is lost and things become banal and things get fucked up when spoken/written/revealed etc., which is why I almost never write about/from my own life. At least not overtly or consciously.
Thank you. Great post. And I couldn’t agree more that something is lost and things become banal and things get fucked up when spoken/written/revealed etc., which is why I almost never write about/from my own life. At least not overtly or consciously.
Language does have its limits. Didn’t Nietzsche say something to the effect that once something can be put into language (or, can be spoken) it is no longer in the heart.
Also, there is a verse from Romans I (I think, I’ll go look for that, too) that says something about sometimes a prayer is not “words”, it is simply “a howl”. I know I’ve prayed like that. (And to “whom” or “what”, I do not know. I’m not “religious”. But I have howled.)
Someone help me out here. (Or, I’ll go find and get back to ya.)
something does disappear.
Language does have its limits. Didn’t Nietzsche say something to the effect that once something can be put into language (or, can be spoken) it is no longer in the heart.
Also, there is a verse from Romans I (I think, I’ll go look for that, too) that says something about sometimes a prayer is not “words”, it is simply “a howl”. I know I’ve prayed like that. (And to “whom” or “what”, I do not know. I’m not “religious”. But I have howled.)
Someone help me out here. (Or, I’ll go find and get back to ya.)
something does disappear.
I attended Stephen’s seminar. He speaks very persuasively on writing from our experiences. I think he might sway you. Still, I write fiction. Perhaps I look hard at story just so I don’t have to look so hard at my experiences.
I attended Stephen’s seminar. He speaks very persuasively on writing from our experiences. I think he might sway you. Still, I write fiction. Perhaps I look hard at story just so I don’t have to look so hard at my experiences.
The thing you think you shouldn’t write about is the only thing you should be writing about.
The thing you think you shouldn’t write about is the only thing you should be writing about.
Complimenti. Basta.
Complimenti. Basta.
you were great clapping on the bench when bird stole that pass from isiah
you were great clapping on the bench when bird stole that pass from isiah
i don’t have to worry about my family reading any “too close to home” stories. they only read what i forward them links to…and probably not even then.
i have never written a truly autobio story. nothing in my life is remotely that interesting. i can’t write a story w/o twisting all sorts of shit around until it interests me.
very interesting post overall. i do like bill walton’s statement about writing what you think you shouldn’t write about…at least as it pertains to my writing. ellen parker at FRiGG gave me that exact advice the 47th time she rejected me. i took her advice, fell on my face a few times, and then wrote one of the few things i’m actually “proud” of. even if that was the most “personal” story i’d written, it was only about 5% autobiographical, but it still feels real
i don’t have to worry about my family reading any “too close to home” stories. they only read what i forward them links to…and probably not even then.
i have never written a truly autobio story. nothing in my life is remotely that interesting. i can’t write a story w/o twisting all sorts of shit around until it interests me.
very interesting post overall. i do like bill walton’s statement about writing what you think you shouldn’t write about…at least as it pertains to my writing. ellen parker at FRiGG gave me that exact advice the 47th time she rejected me. i took her advice, fell on my face a few times, and then wrote one of the few things i’m actually “proud” of. even if that was the most “personal” story i’d written, it was only about 5% autobiographical, but it still feels real
isn’t the most perfect thing nonexistence? if something stays nothing, then nothing can be wrong with it.
isn’t the most perfect thing nonexistence? if something stays nothing, then nothing can be wrong with it.
Great post, Gian.
Donoghue said something like this: “The only perfect novel is the unwritten one.” He was talking about the gap between conception and execution, but I think it works for your Holy Silence too.
Great post, Gian.
Donoghue said something like this: “The only perfect novel is the unwritten one.” He was talking about the gap between conception and execution, but I think it works for your Holy Silence too.
Gordo, is that you?
great post
Gordo, is that you?
great post
“publication is not a process of writing and should be viewed as such.”
Yeah, I know what you mean. Things kind of got blended in there, but not unintentionally.
“publication is not a process of writing and should be viewed as such.”
Yeah, I know what you mean. Things kind of got blended in there, but not unintentionally.
exactly, i got mad props for salinger when it comes to not publishing his work.
people would gladly pay an absurd amount for just one of those novels lurking in his heart.
mad props.
exactly, i got mad props for salinger when it comes to not publishing his work.
people would gladly pay an absurd amount for just one of those novels lurking in his heart.
mad props.
Very well put, Gian. Reminds me of Heidegger’s writing on Hoelderlin: poetry alone speaks existence, in the very fact that it fails to speak, or speaks the nothing that is. Or Wallace Stevens:
“For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.”
But you put it better, I think.
Very well put, Gian. Reminds me of Heidegger’s writing on Hoelderlin: poetry alone speaks existence, in the very fact that it fails to speak, or speaks the nothing that is. Or Wallace Stevens:
“For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.”
But you put it better, I think.
i think it has a lot to do with secrecy and meaning and how, with each iteration of a thing — beginning with the first — that thing becomes less unique, less private, less urgent.
i feel dorothy parker’s pretty spot on. think you’ve got a good story? try telling it to your five closest friends. then tell it to five people you meet on the street. then five more.
suddenly that thing’s changed. suddenly you’re fucking sick of it. or else, i think, should be. i’ve always found something condescending and loathsome about that guy at the party who’s always telling the same jokes, the same way, to different people. it’s like, dude, at least change it up a little.
i feel it’s a little like sending someone a story you’ve never shown anyone else before, or admitting what you believe to be your most horrific, unforgivable secret or something.
you say it and suddenly it’s something else, no longer secret.
you say it a couple more times, to a couple more people, and, fuck, it’s something else again.
i think it has a lot to do with secrecy and meaning and how, with each iteration of a thing — beginning with the first — that thing becomes less unique, less private, less urgent.
i feel dorothy parker’s pretty spot on. think you’ve got a good story? try telling it to your five closest friends. then tell it to five people you meet on the street. then five more.
suddenly that thing’s changed. suddenly you’re fucking sick of it. or else, i think, should be. i’ve always found something condescending and loathsome about that guy at the party who’s always telling the same jokes, the same way, to different people. it’s like, dude, at least change it up a little.
i feel it’s a little like sending someone a story you’ve never shown anyone else before, or admitting what you believe to be your most horrific, unforgivable secret or something.
you say it and suddenly it’s something else, no longer secret.
you say it a couple more times, to a couple more people, and, fuck, it’s something else again.
Really interesting and inspiring post. Thanks, Gian.
I’ve been working in this problem for awhile, now, too; we’ve got that same gnarly obsession.
I think it relates to the want to both Give and Not Give/Create and Destroy. To do both simultaneously–why is this such a want? And, maybe more of a want: to get at what’s at the middle, i.e. to figure It out & be comfortable with It, whatever It may be (family shit, the woman pictured here–like the weird liminal space between language and conception/consciousness; the Holy Middle i.e. the Holy Silence i.e. ‘What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence’–’pass over’ being the operative phrase) and that we as humans are stuck to muddle in dualism. This is both our curse and blessing. (Curse and blessing, curse and blessing, duh and duh)
These thoughts have led to me speaking a lot less in person. Smiling, breathing, looking more. Speaking less. Still working on speaking less, always less (and always more).
Multitudes.
(let’s talk about this in person, when I’m not so zonked, and then we can ruin it all together some more)
Really interesting and inspiring post. Thanks, Gian.
I’ve been working in this problem for awhile, now, too; we’ve got that same gnarly obsession.
I think it relates to the want to both Give and Not Give/Create and Destroy. To do both simultaneously–why is this such a want? And, maybe more of a want: to get at what’s at the middle, i.e. to figure It out & be comfortable with It, whatever It may be (family shit, the woman pictured here–like the weird liminal space between language and conception/consciousness; the Holy Middle i.e. the Holy Silence i.e. ‘What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence’–’pass over’ being the operative phrase) and that we as humans are stuck to muddle in dualism. This is both our curse and blessing. (Curse and blessing, curse and blessing, duh and duh)
These thoughts have led to me speaking a lot less in person. Smiling, breathing, looking more. Speaking less. Still working on speaking less, always less (and always more).
Multitudes.
(let’s talk about this in person, when I’m not so zonked, and then we can ruin it all together some more)
from the inscription of borges’ collected fictions:
“I inscribe this book to S.D.–English, innumerable, and an Angel. Also: I offer her that kernel of myself that I have saved, somehow–the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams, and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.”
from the inscription of borges’ collected fictions:
“I inscribe this book to S.D.–English, innumerable, and an Angel. Also: I offer her that kernel of myself that I have saved, somehow–the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams, and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.”
Nice, James. God. that’s good.
Nice, James. God. that’s good.