Craft Notes
Reading to people
Monday night, I did a reading to promote Dzanc’s Best of the Web 2010 collection. It was nice. Dave Rowley and Christine Hartzler read, too. It was sunny out, so not a lot of people were out to see the reading. That’s okay.
I read CAVES. Or, well, most of CAVES. See, something happened.
I was reading CAVES, and figured I had enough time to read the whole thing. And had intended to read the whole thing.
But then, I stopped. At section 16, I stopped reading and paused.
Sometimes when I write—usually when I write—I think about a story someone has told me about a stranger, and I put that story into what I’m writing. Section 16 of CAVES:
He bought a little toy piano at a thrift store. The keys made a sound like the ringing of a bell.
He played little songs.
He sat out on the step in front of his house and played little songs. People would stop and listen.
They would stop and listen, and sometimes say nice things. And sometimes they would walk by without even looking at him.
He liked the walk-bys best.
includes one of those anecdotes. A friend told me that he had seen a person who sometimes shops at the bookstore where I work playing a toy piano and singing. I liked the image, so I used it.
The guy who shops at the store also attends a lot of readings. And he was attending the Best of the Web reading. He was sitting about 8 feet from me when I got to section 16 of CAVES.
So I kind of freaked. And I stopped reading. And I took a moment to figure out what to do.
And I stopped reading and told everyone that if they wanted to know how the story ended, they would have to buy the book. (This guy never buys books.)
So, what say you? Would you have read it, damn the consequences? Would you have freaked out, as well, even though the thing taken from this man’s life and used in a story is not really all that bad? (I don’t feel like that section mocks said eccentric busking technique.) Should I just make more stuff up when I write?
Tags: best of the web 2010, readings
I would have freaked out but plunged on. “He, uh…he…” Then some water, and then probably fast-read words for a while. But who knows. Here’s the real point of interest: did your cliffhanger strategy encourage book buying?
That’s a good story. I have terrible impulse control so I probably would have freaked out AND continued reading, maybe waggling my eyebrow at him or pointing helplessly in his direction, or maybe I would have screamed Do you think you’re the only person who owns a toy piano? and then knocked over the podium, smashed the complimentary glass of water against my face and scampered away weeping tears and blud
You did fine is what I’m saying
Those shoes look really good on you, Matthew. Knee-high socks, hot.
Thanks! I’ve been doing more work on my calves.
Tough call. But the depiction was a positive one, no? So it seems like the issue was not really one of being self-conscious in front of this guy, it was the idea maybe that fiction is not just “fiction,” not sheer fabrication no matter how nonchalantly we carve up the genres? An act of thievery, then, not from another author, but from life? Like the photograph that steals the soul? A chunk of undigestable reality-fiber that stayed intact in the final version? It’s a cool story. And, it occurs to me, something memoirists must contend with all the time. We fictioneers get to hide a bit; maybe it’s good to be outed and made uncomfortable every so often.
Good point Tim. Does this hesitation imply a theft from a non-participant is somehow more serious, then? Or is the issue not so much the theft but the guilt of admittance? And if so, then it is perhaps not the guilt of stealing, but the guilt of admitting the depiction paling when faced with its originator?
I’m not saying this depiction does or doesn’t — I like the simple polite withdrawn-ness of the section quoted, but haven’t met the model.
Also : Next time change “piano” to “xylophone” and continue unabated.
I would have freaked out but plunged on. “He, uh…he…” Then some water, and then probably fast-read words for a while. But who knows. Here’s the real point of interest: did your cliffhanger strategy encourage book buying?
That’s a good story. I have terrible impulse control so I probably would have freaked out AND continued reading, maybe waggling my eyebrow at him or pointing helplessly in his direction, or maybe I would have screamed Do you think you’re the only person who owns a toy piano? and then knocked over the podium, smashed the complimentary glass of water against my face and scampered away weeping tears and blud
You did fine is what I’m saying
Those shoes look really good on you, Matthew. Knee-high socks, hot.
Thanks! I’ve been doing more work on my calves.
Tough call. But the depiction was a positive one, no? So it seems like the issue was not really one of being self-conscious in front of this guy, it was the idea maybe that fiction is not just “fiction,” not sheer fabrication no matter how nonchalantly we carve up the genres? An act of thievery, then, not from another author, but from life? Like the photograph that steals the soul? A chunk of undigestable reality-fiber that stayed intact in the final version? It’s a cool story. And, it occurs to me, something memoirists must contend with all the time. We fictioneers get to hide a bit; maybe it’s good to be outed and made uncomfortable every so often.
i would’ve put the ball in his court with a subtle nod [not wink] and then read section 16. such a good story, matthew, and i know i’ve already told you this.
Good point Tim. Does this hesitation imply a theft from a non-participant is somehow more serious, then? Or is the issue not so much the theft but the guilt of admittance? And if so, then it is perhaps not the guilt of stealing, but the guilt of admitting the depiction paling when faced with its originator?
I’m not saying this depiction does or doesn’t — I like the simple polite withdrawn-ness of the section quoted, but haven’t met the model.
Also : Next time change “piano” to “xylophone” and continue unabated.
i would’ve put the ball in his court with a subtle nod [not wink] and then read section 16. such a good story, matthew, and i know i’ve already told you this.
Update your self-image from ‘writer’ to ‘marauder’ and carry on lying and thieving with abandon. Works wonders for me.
You should have absolutely continued reading: what better moment to subjugate your character than by reading work about him to his face?
Update your self-image from ‘writer’ to ‘marauder’ and carry on lying and thieving with abandon. Works wonders for me.
You should have absolutely continued reading: what better moment to subjugate your character than by reading work about him to his face?
I don’t understand the concept of theft in this context. The first stories ever written were hand-me-downs.
I don’t understand the concept of theft in this context. The first stories ever written were hand-me-downs.
Every person I include in my work are excited to read about themselves in print. Even the fictional characters. I wonder if you missed a chance at a fun performance-art riff: might he not have played a little impromptu background music as you read?