I’ve moved this blog to The Write Place and I’d love you to pop over and see what I’m up to there.
When an idea has been living in your head for a long time and you sit down to write it, but find you can’t, don’t be too quick to jump to the conclusion that you’re suffering from writer’s block.
What may be holding you back from writing might well be fear. But fear of another kind. Fear that you won’t get it right. Fear that you haven’t quite got character X’s arc down pat, or fear that your sentences won’t be as crisp on paper as they are in your head. Welcome to analysis paralysis. It’s a curse and it’s a significant reason why so many writers don’t pick up their pens or don’t finish their stories.
It’s a good idea to let the little fish of story ideas swim about in your head for a while so that they grow into bigger fish from complimentary ideas that come from rumination. But you don’t want to overthink the story ideas to such a degree that you’ve overfed them into monsters before you even get writing.
Writing is an organic process, don’t kill that little fish by over-feeding it. As soon that small fish starts swimming about in the sea of your mind, start writing. Let it swim where it will, don’t try to direct it. Think balance. Think a little bit of structure and a little bit of spontaneity, you might give the fish a tank and a few toy castles to swim through, but you can not determine whether it will suck on the sides of the tank for a week or if it will dive in and out of the bits of seaweed. Likewise, let your story grow organically.
Often when we overthink a story, it doesn’t grow into our idea of what we thought it was going to be. While it’s all good and well to know your genre, have a strong cast of characters, and an exciting plot, don’t over-plan. Sure, you want to know where you’re going, but be open to surprise. A surprise in the writer will stimulate a surprise in the reader. Readers are smart and they don’t like predictability. If they wanted predictability they’d be doing maths. They’re reading because they want to be taken on an adventure. If you don’t go on an adventure, how can you expect them to enjoy the ride.
Some writers report that they knew the beginning and the ending of their stories and the middle just happened. Other writers get heart palpitations at the very idea of not being in full control. These are the control freaks and they suffer the most from analysis paralysis. Of course you can plot out every single scene of your story, but if you don’t allow for the creative inputs that come during writing, you’re going to short change not only your readers, but yourself as a writer. Don’t be a slave to your story, instead, think of writing as taking your story’s hand and walking along the road together to discover where it is that you want to go. There is nothing more stifled or strangled than a story that’s forced in a certain direction.
There’s no place for the analytical mind in the drafting experience. In those early drafts where you just want to get the story down, it doesn’t matter if you have lapses, inconsistencies, crappy grammar, or two characters with similar names. Just allow your thoughts to put themselves on the page. Once you’ve got down a basic draft, the revision can begin, and that’s when you get to invite your analytical mind to the process. Revision is where you can deepen characters, tighten the plot, and correct your abhorrent spelling mistakes.
How can you force your analytical brain to take a step back during the creative process? If analysis paralysis stymies you during the pre-writing phase, stop trying to get it all write. Make notes of your ideas, it doesn’t matter if they’re good or bad, don’t judge them, just get them down. Research if you must, but avoid becoming so overwhelmed by information that it smothers your idea. Research shouldn’t be evident in your story, it should inform your story.
Most people claim to suffer from analysis paralysis once they start writing and get frustrated that they’re not getting all the stuff into the story, or that as soon as they put down a word they start judging themselves. Try these remedies. If you type your draft on a computer then set the font to no colour and just allow yourself to write whatever comes. Not being able to see what you’ve written allows your brain to face a blank welcoming page instead of a critical one staring back at you with errors. If you write long-hand, tuck a piece of carbon paper between two sheets and write your story with a pen that’s run out of ink so that you can’t see what you’re writing. Afterwards, when you’ve got the whole story down you can go back and revise on the carbon copy. By freeing your mind from judgement you can allow your creative mind free reign, and let your story find its natural form, and avoid analysis paralysis.
Join Isabella Morris for a weekend of creative writing workshops in the beautiful city of Windhoek in Namibia.
Date: 1-2 October 2011
Venue: The Language Laboratory, Windhoek, Namibia
Time: 09h00 – 15h00
Cost: R1500 for Travel Writing on 1 October 2011
R1500 for Masterclass in Fiction Writing on 2 October 2011
Each course includes tuition, exercises, a workshop manual, a snack, refreshments and lunch.
Course excludes flights and accommodation.
Award-winning writer Isabella Morris will lead participants through two exciting workshops:
1. Travel Writing Workshop.
2. Master Class in Fiction Writing which includes: Creating Characters with Emotional Depth, Multi-cultural writing, Sex-writing in Fiction, and Turning Notebook Scribbles into Stories.
During the course participants will engage in exercises that will encourage them to explore their writing in new ways. The course is designed for anyone who has an interest in improving their writing and is keen to engage in experiments in telling.
Info & Bookings: Please contact Isabella Morris at firstname.lastname@example.org or +27722084357
Bookings close 20 September 2011.
I remember standing in a bank queue with my two youngest children when they were about six and seven years old. The queue was long and there was an elderly man standing in front of us; I can still smell the grease in his hair and see the dandruff embedded on the neck of his brown jersey; he turned to me and we had a conversation about his war experiences. In no time at all, it seemed, we’d reached the front of the queue; the electronic board above the teller station beeped and the man proceeded to Teller 5. My son tugged my sleeve and I looked down at his earnest blue eyes. “Do you know that man, mommy?” He asked; I had to admit that I didn’t. My children were perplexed that a stranger would share his story with me and as explanation I told them that my mother had said I would always hear the life-stories of people because I had a face that strangers trust. I now know that if I don’t want to hear every stranger’s life-story, I follow my husband’s advice and avoid eye contact.
Seeds of story are scattered everywhere and often I scribble down a word or a phrase or impressions in my notebook that I overhear or observe. Goldie stood sobbing in her bare feet, wrapped in a pink gown at a phone booth in a hospital waiting area. Natalia confided how her sister wouldn’t eat broken food – crumbs of crisps or biscuits. Michelle told me she was heartbroken when her next door neighbour stopped playing with her; Michelle’s mother tried to cheer her up by saying, “You’ll be friends again once she’s stopped being Jesus’ new best friend.” Carrington told me how he spent a summer in Harare converting the school playground into a golf-course and how thirty boys played golf with one broken golf club. Each of these incidents are seeds that I have been able to use as starters for my short stories.
Other stories are delivered to me – sometimes with the written permission from people to tell them. An immigrant wants me to expose corruption at a world-renowned medical training institution. It is an alleged tale of academic corruption, mining-bosses, xenophobia and American spies. A lady once phoned to say that she had the solution for South Africa’s political problems – God had given it to her – and she wanted to relay the solution to Thabo Mbeki who was the South African president at the time. There are of course legitimate people who contact me from time to time, and after deciding not to take on their stories, I have, with their permission, passed them on to colleagues who were more inclined to their stories, or who had the necessary expertise to write them.
There are stories that I know would be delightful to use as the foundation for my own short stories, but I have chosen not tell them and the reasons vary. These stories are usually very intimate and while they would offer great scenes for my fiction, my friends would recognise themselves in an instant.
It would appear then that I sometimes feel conflicted about what I do and what I don’t write. I guess I don’t want to be a peddlar of someone else’s pain. I can write about painful issues, but I can’t insert the real stories of friends and family because then it would cause pain for them. That said, I do admit to having included personal impressions in some stories or articles that have hurt some of the people I love and I’ve had to apologise for that. Choosing what to write then is quite a delicate balancing act. Yes, writers should be able to write uncensored, but then they must be prepared to pay the price of that choice.
At present I’m writing an inspirational biography. I was genuinely surprised that I was awarded the contract because I had researched and written a paper on biography during my masters degree, and I had been quite turned off the genre because it is such a contested genre and there are too many agendas to be served – at least the writer’s and the subject’s. The only reason I agreed to write the biography was because it is not intended to be sensational – I don’t want to dish up dirt on anyone. I’m writing the biography because the intention is to serve as an inspiration to youth who badly need role models and hope for a future that they might not be that hopeful about. That said, it will not be a sanitised piece. The hardships and the experiences of the subject will be discussed, but not in the Hollywood-Tell-All exposé way.
One of the major issues for writers is that of making choices. We all have to do it, and we all make different choices and these choices result in a wonderful diversity for readers.
(Image: The Storyteller 2 – produced here with permission by the artist Jamie Winter)
Your bathroom at home has miniature-sized everything – shampoo, body lotion, soap.
You spend half an hour going through your dressing table at home trying to find the room service menu.
You speak in hushed tones when you walk down your passage at home.
You ask your housekeeper what else is on the menu for dinner.
You forget you have a car parked in the garage and phone for a taxi.
You dial 9 hoping to book an early wake-up call.
Every inch in your handbag is accounted for.
You go to the bookshop and head straight for the travel guides.
The rotator cuffs in your shoulder are stuffed from lugging heavy wheelie bags through airports.
Roam on / Roam off is no. 2 on the speed dial of your mobile phone.
The constant concern in your life is how many pages you have got left in your passport for foreign visa requirements.
You wear three watches – New York, London, Johannesburg.
Your wallet carries US Dollars, Egyptian Pounds, Euros and Thai Baht, but you have no Rands to pay the local car-guard.
You phone your friends and they say, “Isabella who? God, I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth!”
Contests are a fabulous way to announce your presence on the local writing scene. If you are placed in a contest, it helps you to establish a writing cv or bio that many publications require and it also boosts your confidence. Not having a publishing record can be intimidating for beginner writers, but don’t allow yourself to be disheartened. A story well told will be enjoyed by an editor or contest reader.
WHICH ONE IS RIGHT FOR YOU?
It is important to be selective about which contests you enter. Without diligent research you could end up sending entries that don’t comply with the rules. If a publication says they only want fiction entries, then that is all they want. They will summarily reject poetry and non-fiction entries, no matter how brilliant they might be. A recent local contest received hundreds of entries, but about a hundred of them were rejected because the entrants did not comply with the rules. If a rule states that you have to be a citizen of Burramunga to enter, then that’s the rule, don’t waste your time or the contest organisers’ time by submitting anything to them.
If you’re serious about entering contests then you need to establish which ones are suitable for the genre that you write in. Good resources can be found in comprehensive listings in publications like The Writer’s Yearbook and Writer’s Market UK available at good bookstores, and obviously, the internet. Many writing sites have a listing of writing contests.
The best way to ensure that you enter the competitions that you are able to comply with, is to have a Contest Plan. In November/December every year, I spend about a week researching contests online and in the Writer’s Yearbook and Writer’s Market. I make a list of those I want to enter by listing them according to the earliest closing date. I cut and paste the submission rules of each into a Word document entitled Contests 2009. At the beginning of every month I see what’s coming up, trying to read three months in advance. If I feel that there is a contest I want to enter then I print that contest’s details and put it into the plastic folder. Date order is essential because at a glance I am able to see what’s coming up. Being forewarned, so to speak, gives me time to consider what story I would like to write, it also gives me a chance to check through unpublished work for a suitable story. This list is invaluable and can be added to throughout the year if new contests appear. It also provides a template for the following year.
KEEP A SEPARATE FOLDER
I have a plastic see through box where I keep all research material, contest rules and drafts of competition entries, this cuts out the confusion of having to remember where I have filed an article or an idea.
JOT DOWN IDEAS
In the plastic folder I keep a notebook for ideas that I want to jot down. An idea don’t remember itself, if you don’t write it down, consider that idea a cigarette that you enjoyed, but once it’s gone up in smoke, you can’t reclaim it. If all your ideas and rules and research are centrally located you won’t waste time.
If you’re going to be a serious contest entrant then you need to keep track of which submissions you’ve made to which publications. Many contests do not accept simultaneous submissions, i.e. it’s not protocol to send the same entry to several competitions at the same time. Knowing where your stories are is essential. A good idea is to download manuscript management software. The best tracker that I’ve found is SAMM which is completely free and downloadable at this link. It’s fabulous because you can customise it according to your needs and it’s unobtrusive. You can enter all your manuscripts, you can enter markets and market types. It’s a no-fuss application that will alert you with follow-ups if you so require.
Before you send your entry, make a checklist from the rules sheet. Have you double-spaced your entry? Must you include your name on the manuscript or mustn’t you? Have you included your contact details? It is so easy to avoid silly mistakes by using a checklist, but remember to be flexible because different contests have different criteria, some want three copies of an entry and others require only a single copy. Some contests allow email entries, others do not. Make it your business to establish the rules for your checklist.
New years are notorious for setting up people for failure, and writers are no different. A new year is a blank canvas waiting for you to fill in the colours of your aspirations, but it is easy to get carried away. With eagerness you allow the colours to swirl into each other so that instead of having a clear picture of what you’re hoping for, you end up with a chaotic picture full of muddy colours that have bled out your pure intentions.
There are a myriad of resources to consult in order to design a writing plan and books such as Maisel’s Coaching the Artist Within and Jurgen Wolff’s Your Writing Coach can also get you upright at your desk with ideas about how to best approach this business of writing. But there are some basics that you don’t need a book to tell you about. Trust me, this I know after years and years of making plans, or should I say, setting up the traps of self-sabotage.
Firstly, spend some time thinking about what you want to achieve as a writer. Do you want to be a novelist or a environmental journalist? You need to have your mind firmly set as to what it is you want to achieve. To establish a career as a writer, you can’t be a jack-of-all-trades. Case in point: I decided to go to the Richmond Book Fair. I approached a local newspaper to do an article on the fair, but the books editor didn’t want a general piece on the fair, she wanted a review on one of the books being launched at the fair. Interviewing the writer and going to the launch took all my energy away from the fair itself, and it took another two to three weeks of reading the book and writing the review. I am not a review writer, I don’t want to be one, I shouldn’t have agreed to do it! The review was okay, even if the editor didn’t like it, and yet it was a colossal waste of time and energy. Time and energy that would have been put to much better use at the writing projects that I’m committed to and passionate about.
Secondly, take some time to plan out blocks of time to devote to the writing projects that you’ve chosen to do. If you are aware of deadline dates for short story competitions or for novel chapters, then you’ve got an idea of the amount of time you need to allocate to achieving each one of the projects.
Thirdly, don’t set yourself up for failure. If you’re writing erotic science-fiction short stories, don’t send them to You magazine for consideration. Don’t send a non-fiction book proposal to a poetry publisher. You must identify your markets so that your writing has the best chance of succeeding. Also, don’t over-extend yourself. If you’re a part-time writer, then your output is going to be considerably less than a full-time writer, so try not to be over-ambitious. Be realistic – the amount of time you have will usually determine how much you can achieve.
Fourthly, write. I am amazed at how many people consider themselves to be writers, but don’t actually write. They either read about writing or they have ideas in their heads! Neither will get you published. To be a writer you have to write – I believe every day, but you may disagree. However, if you’re not putting words on a page you cannot be a writer. Writers write, it’s that simple. And the more you write, the easier it gets.
Finally, if you don’t have the luxury of being able to share your writing with anyone, invest in Peter Elbow’s book, Writing without Teachers.
During each 8-hour shift I was expected to produce daily diaries for half of the contestants, write one feature article a day and one ‘he did, she did’ short per hour. If I was on a day-shift it was my duty to do a poll at a local shopping centre or write a quiz for online viewers, and if it was an elimination Sunday I had to interview the eliminated housemates and family members of other housemates present at the elimination. I also had to capture my own stills from the daily live feed. What a brilliant experience it was and I had great fun making up tittilating article titles and provocative photo captions.
It was chaotic at times and hilarious at others and the writing came easily when the house was full of housemates, each one eager to out-perform their competition. But once the contestants were eliminated, my shift-mate and I found ourselves writing about the house cats because the two remaining housemates slept the days away, and really the writers were forced, as our editor said, to make “koek from kak.”
Towards the end of the event, I was tasked with interviewing the mother of one of the contestants; the press had slated her for being a bad mother and so when I telephoned her, it took a lot of calm negotiating to get her to agree to the interview. She was embarrassed about the way her family had come across in the local sensationalist mag that had already interviewed her and she was eager to minimise her family’s exposure to public scrutiny, even though her daughter had already outed the family skeletons in such a public way. It must have taken me well over half an hour of just listening and reassuring her until she agreed to be interviewed.
Families are not perfect, parents are fallible. When I interviewed the contestant’s mother and when I finally wrote the story, I realised that as a writer I didn’t have to add to her pain and humiliation by continuing to present the hardships of her family in a judgemental way; there is more to a person’s life than some bad choices they’ve made. It was my first interview and an extremely valuable lesson: writing about other people demands respect and an ethical responsibility from the writer.
Since then I’ve written a few profiles of people and I’ve managed to present the people as I found them, allowing their own words and their environments to paint them, trying to minimise my own prejudices or views.
For one of the elective courses that I took at varsity I had to interview someone I didn’t know and I interviewed a biker who trawled our suburb like a contemporary cowboy. He agreed to the interview and all was going well until he launched into a sermon on Krishnamurti and then he reached across the coffee table and pinched me viciously on my arm – to illustrate a point about feeling. I was stunned at how he reached across the boundary of writer/subject; this wasn’t supposed to happen. He then told me that if I had not interviewed him that morning, he had planned to end his unravelling life! At the end of the interview, he gave me his card, I gave him mine, but neither of us ever used each other’s number again and although I wrote the article, I never attempted to publish it. The experience sort of turned me off writing profiles.
However, I’m still a voyeur, what with my Big Brother training and all that; but these days I watch and I write and I imagine and I use all of those imaginings in my fiction. Fiction is a much smarter genre in which to manipulate the lives of your characters without anyone really getting hurt.
For the record, I haven’t watched a Big Brother episode since I uploaded my last story on the Big Brother II website. But, I’m a girl in touch with my roots, and I know that I’m the writer I am today because of the lessons I learned in the green room at M-Net in Randburg.
The Dynamics of the Relationship between Biographer and Subject.
Oscar Wilde said, “Every person has their disciples, but it is usually Judas who writes the biography.” By its very nature biography demands that a relationship is forged between biographer and the subject – albeit one of varying depths and tensions.
The biographer comes to the subject with a pre-conceived notion as to why he wants to write about the subject, and in return, if the subject authorises the biography, he/she, too, is desirous of a certain outcome. However, is it possible for a completely unbiased result to emanate from this relationship, one that will satisfy both biographer and subject, and ultimately the readers who seek out the biographies? This essay seeks to explore the relationships between biographers and their subjects, the possibility of impartiality and the relevance for New Journalism.
Biography is one of the most compelling and popular literary genres. Through biography, readers seek to understand human experience. They look to the personal experiences of the subject – hopes, struggles, emotions, social circumstances – to find significance in the subject’s life, and thereby significance or relevance in their own lives.
When approached from a purely academic perspective, biographies may become nothing more than a log of facts. And yet, when borrowing from fictional techniques to render a subject with personality and character or to frame the subject in a setting, the biographer may be accused of fictionalising – an accusation which could discredit the biographer. It is the very essence of biography – the biographer’s interpretation of the lives and facts about the subject– that will always carry the greatest risk.
Reasons to write biographies about specific subjects are obviously diverse and vast, but according to biographer Backscheider, “cultural interests, economics, and ambition merge with the personal and may even be the primary motives for choosing a particular subject.” Biographers assume that what a person does “expresses an inner life – personality, motives, aspirations, character.”(Backscheider:2001)
Perhaps the wisdom of English biographer George Painter would be prudent for writers to consider when examining one’s motives to write the life of another person. “The biographer must discover, beneath the mask of the artist’s everyday, objective live, the secret life from which he extracted his work.”(Hobbs:1999)
The biographer’s voice and choice of material is enormously powerful in transmitting a tone that will encourage or discourage reader identification and/or empathy with the subject.
“Personally, when I read about someone’s life, I don’t necessarily care about the subjective opinion the biographer has of his or her work, especially when I find it perversely wrongheaded. Nor do I care to be reminded that the biographer is running around interviewing everybody he can find, or rummaging through all the archives, through constructions like “so-and-so said to me.” Unless, of course, the biographer can do these things in an interesting way. But not everybody can write The Quest for Corvo or Shelley: The Pursuit, and quite a few people should stop trying.”(www.beatrice.com)
The voice of the biographer is one aspect of the biographical genre that allows the reader to accept or reject the biographer’s interpretation of the subject. In the genre of New Journalism, the voice of the writer is evident and it is therefore anticipated that any marriage between these two genres will result in the writer adopting a voice that seeks to engage the reader in the life and/or work of the subject.
“Commenting on the regressive effect that both journalistic and psychoanalytic relationships have, Malcolm observes that ‘the subject becomes a kind of child to the writer, regarding him as a permissive, all-accepting, all-forgiving mother, and expecting that the book will be written by her. Of course, the book is written by the strict, all-noticing, unforgiving father.’”(Boynton:2005)
The relationship between biographer and subject has always been a site of difficulty, and journalist Janet Malcolm’s observation possibly captures the feelings of an aggrieved subject who feels that they have been betrayed by their biographer.
One of the earliest literary biographies is Memoirs of the Author of the Rights of Woman which William Godwin wrote about his wife, writer Mary Wollstonecraft in the late 18th century. The intellectual couple had enjoyed a satisfying if somewhat unconventional marriage and Godwin’s biography was the first honest, transparent biography of a woman. When Memoirs was published, the Historical Magazine called it “‘the most hurtful book’ of 1798. The poet Robert Southey accused Godwin of ‘a want of all feeling in stripping his dead wife naked’. The European Magazine described the work as ‘the history of a philosophical wanton’.”(Holmes:2000 )
Godwin sought to write a book that would present a portrait of his wife in which all facets of her personality would be considered in her make-up as a writer. It was a complete biography “intimate in detail and often critical of Wollstonecraft’s behaviour, though always understanding and passionately committed to her genius” and finally “with tender simplicity he described their own liaison and marriage… and in almost gynaecological detail, her tragic death after bearing her second daughter, Mary.”(Holmes:2000 )
The Monthly Review wrote, “’blushes would suffuse the cheeks of most husbands if they were forced to relate those anecdotes of their wives which Mr Godwin voluntarily proclaims to the world. The extreme eccentricity of Mr Godwin’s sentiments will account for his conduct. Virtue and vice are weighed by him in a balance of his own. He neither looks to marriage with respect, nor to suicide with horror.”(Holmes:2000 )
It was Godwin’s conviction “that a writer’s duty was to carry honest feeling from private to public life”, but the world wasn’t ready for this radical honesty and the biographer was considered to be nothing more than “an unfeeling husband who betrayed family secrets.”(Holmes:2000 )
The Memoirs caused Godwin endless personal torment. The Anti-Jacobin and other magazines kept up a remorseless onslaught against Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft, including indexing the book under “’Prostitution: see Mary Wollstonecraft’”. Women writers who had previously been sympathetic to Wollstonecraft’s ideologies felt that “the very form of biography betrayed the ideology of feminism. It made Mary Wollstonecraft seem too romantic and too dangerous a figure.”(Holmes:2000 ) They too rejected Godwin’s biography, and Wollstonecraft was excluded from at least two biographies of women writers that were written after her death.
This unanimous outrage from all sectors came as a great shock to Godwin and he never again employed the bold honesty that was contrary to the conventions of the time in either his fiction or his philosophical writing.
Candour and courage are two of the cornerstones of New Journalism, and are sought by readers of contemporary biographies or biographical fragments in newspapers and magazines. Readers expect the biographer to ask the questions that the subject doesn’t possibly want to answer. And more than this, readers expect a biography to be recounted with integrity.
W H Auden, Charles Dickens and Henry James burned their letters and private documents and Rudyard Kipling bequeathed all his letters to his daughter who refused to make them available for public perusal after his death. Personal documents are just one of the tools available to the biographer to gain interiority into the life of a subject, especially of a subject who is no longer alive. In the case of a deceased subject it is the role of the biographer to access and assimilate secondary sources, such as letters, documents, diaries, interviews with family, friends, enemies, etc., which will lead the biographer to drawing a substantially researched composite of the subject’s life.
Ronald Suresh Roberts was contracted by Random House to write Nadine Gordimer’s biography. For almost a decade Suresh Roberts was granted unlimited access to Gordimer’s private study and its contents. In the controversial biography entitled No Cold Kitchen, an extract of which appeared in The Sunday Times, Suresh Roberts gives an interesting insight into how Nadine Gordimer views people’s perceptions of her, specifically journalists.
“In a 1986 letter Gordimer thanked her outgoing French media minder for ‘supporting me with your friendship and understanding when I am thrown to the journalist wolves (and some even eat like wolves; do you remember the lunch with Francoise Xenakis when she was supposed to be interviewing me, but her mouth was so full all the time she really couldn’t . . . ) . I am touched to think that you not only put up with me, but also have warm feelings towards me.’”(Suresh Roberts:2004 )
When Gordimer read a draft of the biography she withdrew her authorisation decrying Suresh Roberts’ interference in her private life. Asked by a journalist how much readers are entitled to know about the private life of writers, she said, “There’s no entitlement at all… All there really is to know of the writer is in the work. How the writer lived as an individual and as a human being is entirely his or her private affair.”(Baron:2004 )
In a 1987 interview with a Norwegian Journalist Gordimer said, “My lovers are my private business.”(Schoonakker:2004 )
Does a biographical subject have the luxury of ‘private business’?
Nadine Gordimer dismissed writing her autobiography, yet she gave Suresh Roberts, as authorised biographer, unlimited access to her personal documents. Surely her sentiment that how she lived her private life was of no consequence to anyone else, is a naïve response from such an accomplished writer who is well aware that a writer’s life-experiences informs their writing.
Biography seeks to superimpose life over work and work over life in the hope of weaving patterns of meaning that have shaped the life of the subject. To expect that the biographer will judiciously weed out the caustic letters, intimate observations and personal declarations that attest to the ordinary-ness of the subject is a callow expectation.
All journalists or biographers are faced with material about which they have to make a decision. It is accepted that the writer cannot include everything about the subject, but it is hoped that the writer will include a selection of facts that are truly representative of the subject and which selection produces a balanced view of the subject’s life and/or their work.
The integrity of the biographer, in his assimilation and interpretation of these sources, will determine the final picture of the subject that the biographer reveals to the world. Christopher Ricks’ review of Norman Mailer’s The Executioner’s Song, describes the role of Mailer as biographer of executed murderer Gary Gilmore, “Mailer is … the medium, not the message.”(Ricks:2003)
Mailer may have been able to maintain authorial integrity, but not all biographers can be held in the same high esteem. In a parallel situation, writer Joe McGinnis was afforded exclusive access to murder accused and finally convicted murderer, Jeffrey MacDonald. During the trial and subsequent to the conviction, MacDonald continued to grant McGinnis access to his home and personal records. It was during this complete access to information that McGinnis found a document in which MacDonald admitted to taking diet pills and although he stated in the document that he wasn’t sure if he had taken diet pills on the day of the murder, McGinnis deliberately omitted MacDonald’s uncertainty. One of the side-effects of the diet pills was psychosis, which supported McGinnis’ personal verdict of MacDonald’s guilt. This manipulation of facts directly attests to McGinnis’ lack of integrity.
Long before the end of the trial, McGinnis had concluded that MacDonald was guilty and yet in almost two years worth of correspondence to MacDonald subsequent to the verdict, McGinnis commiserated with the murderer about his conviction, giving no hint that it was his intention to portray MacDonald as a killer in the book he was writing.
McGinnis may have shirked his biographical conscience, but he was sued by MacDonald and in the subsequent trial he put out a missive to several journalists to follow his own trial. It promised to be a worthy case. How valid was it to put a journalist on trial for telling the truth as he perceived it?
Janet Malcolm was the only journalist who took McGinnis’ bait. Her relationship with McGinnis resulted in the book The Journalist and the Murderer which she subsequently wrote in 1998, accusing McGinnis of duplicity in order to get the story.
She also slated journalists en-masse in what has become a notorious definition, “every journalist who is not too stupid or too full of himself knows that what he does is morally indefensible.”(Malcolm:1998 ) However, Malcolm’s own agenda and reputation are not nearly as lily-white as she would have McGinnis or readers believe.
The New Yorker Magazine is Malcolm’s stomping ground. It was on their literary pages that In the Freud Archives, her magnum opus in character assassination, was first published in 1983 – a two-part vilification of psychoanalyst Jeffrey Masson.
Masson was outraged at Malcolm’s “portrayal of him as a stupendously promiscuous braggart and narcissist, Masson promptly called his lawyer. ‘I was completely devastated,’ he later testified in court. ‘I had never been so upset in my whole life.’ In November 1984, Masson sued Malcolm, The New Yorker, and Knopf (which published the articles in book form) for libel, claiming that virtually everything Malcolm had quoted him as saying (such as ‘I was like an intellectual gigolo’) was either false, distorted, or had been taken out of context.”(Boynton:2005 )
The court case dragged on for twelve years through five complaints, one dismissal, two appeals, a hearing before the U.S. Supreme Court, a hung jury, and finally a completed trial that eventually decided in Malcolm’s favour.
Suresh Roberts was outraged at Gordimer’s withdrawal of her authorisation. “This is outrageous behaviour by a woman who claims to be a champion of free speech,” Suresh Roberts said, “she wanted to appear without vanity or blemish. I resisted and she emerges in rounded, human terms. It’s just that she is unaccustomed to being written about in ways over which she has no control.”(Suresh Roberts:2004)
In the Gordimer / Suresh Roberts case, local opinion went against Suresh Roberts and supporters of Gordimer rejected Suresh Roberts for introducing “into what was intended to be serious literary work, bits of unworthy gossip.”(Schoonakker:2004 )
Fellow journalists and writers accused Malcolm of using the McGinnis case to purge her writerly soul of her crime against Masson and against journalism itself. They suggested that the book was nothing more than “a veiled biography” (Boynton:2005 ). Malcolm defended herself by saying that the two suits were completely different, but many felt that the fundamental aspect to both was the betrayal of a friend.
Time magazine warned readers that “Malcolm has a tendency to hog the stage; her sense of identification with Plath as another literary young lady of the 1950s is so often trumpeted that readers not interested in purchasing an autobiography of Janet Malcolm should consider themselves forewarned.”(Sacks:1994 )
Gordimer’s US publishers, Farrar, Straus & Giroux backed their writer and stated that the reason that Gordimer’s authorisation had been withdrawn was “mainly to do with the meandering quality of the narrative and the author’s gratuitous insertion of himself into it.”(Schoonakker:2004 )
The biographer invites the reader to participate in areas of common interest and he clearly reminds the reader of the position he retains in the biography with the use of the authorial “I”.
South African writer Jann Turner says “someone said that all writers have ‘a sliver of ice’ in our hearts. I think that when I’m looking at something that I want to turn into a story I’m already standing at a certain distance from it. On the other hand you have stand close enough to be able to know and understand your subject. Finding the right distance or proximity is part of the creative tension.” There is no doubt that relationships between biographers and their subjects are fraught with tensions that are inherent in biographical intimacy.
In nearly all of Ms Malcolm’s biographical pieces, she has been accused of betrayal by the subjects. In her first book, Diana and Nikon: Essays on the Aesthetic of Photography Malcolm, referring to the photographer, states, “Avedon does not try to make people look bad…he simply doesn’t do anything to make them look good”(Selligman:2005 ). Is this a philosophy that she took to heart?
In Psychoanalysis: The Impossible Profession she refers to her subject as a “remarkable and lovable man” in her acknowledgements, but then paints him as an “ambitious, narcissistic, gossipy and even venal man.”(Selligman:2005 )
In The Journalist and the Murderer, Malcolm readily admits that the subject “has to face the fact that the journalist — who seemed so friendly and sympathetic, so keen to understand him fully, so remarkably attuned to his vision of things — never had the slightest intention of collaborating with him on his story but always intended to write a story of his own.”(Malcolm:1998 )
Fred Friendly, an American broadcaster protested that Malcolm’s sweeping accusation against all journalists was “distorted by a crabbed vision of the profession and her own place in it.”(Selligman:2005 )
One of the tenets of new journalism is that the writer places themselves at the centre of the story. Malcolm, Suresh Roberts and Godwin all placed themselves in the story and yet all are accused of betrayal.
Gay Talese followed Frank Sinatra for an evening and forty years later, his four-part biography is still celebrated as a remarkable piece of integrity-filled writing.
“I think [the journalists] short-change their readers and themselves if they treat the folks they cover with detachment that borders on disdain and also fail to use their special knowledge and experience to its best advantage,” observes journalist Bill O’Connell writing in FineLine: The Newsletter On Journalism Ethics.
It is apparent that the relationship between biographer and subject is always going to be the contested site of two agendas and perhaps Caroline Drinker Bowen has the best solution, “In writing biography, fact and fiction shouldn’t be mixed. And if they are, the fiction parts should be printed in red ink, the fact parts in black ink.”(Hobbs:1999 )
I remember when I started writing again how at sea I felt. On the waves of an emerging literary boom in South Africa, I decided to dip my toes into the water. For many years I just wrote, churned out stories week after week without any idea as to who my reader might be or where I would send the stories to for publication.
I read every writing manual I could lay my hands on and scanned the internet week after week for a course where I might meet other wannabe writers. But alas there were no courses available and it was just by coincidence that I learned of the MA in Writing programme at Wits. It was certainly the catalyst that yanked my writing out of its status of dabbling and catapulted it into my life’s commitment.
There are obviously courses for horses and I would say the MA was a lucky bet for me; it provided exactly the didactic atmosphere that I enjoy. I learned a lot about craft – not everything, but a helluva lot. There are aspects of writing that I felt definitely were not given the attention they deserved, such as the ethics of writing and revision and editing.
Currently there are a lot of writing courses on offer and they are varied and seem tailor-made for the new writer who wants to try their hand. The range of topics is vast – romance writing, song-lyric writing, poetry, memoir, etc. Personally I find most courses geared towards the beginning writer who wants to specialise in a certain genre, yet there are other areas that could provide extremely interesting content for the more experienced writer, such as real travel writing, not tourist blurb; representation of the Other in contemporary literature; writing and meditation; how to use De Bono to generate stories. In fact, I think I will teach some of these classes …
Hereunder is a list of some of the companies offering courses. Please note the list is not exhaustive and it is given as a guide only:
http://www.sawriterscollege.co.za/ – S A Writers College offers a range of online courses and a user-friendly website with lots of interesting info for writers. Their online short story course costs R2995.
http://www.cityvarsity.co.za/shortc/sc_journ/sc_fmj/shortc/sc_ctbdates/ – City Varsity in Cape Town offers a basic 5-week journalism course at a cost of R3500. It is held in the evenings, which makes it a viable proposition for people who work.
http://www.futureshock.co.za/nucourse.htm – South African Writers Network offer self-study modules at a cost of R350 per module.
http://www.intec.edu.za/live/content.php?Item_ID=103 – Intec offers self-study courses in Creative Writing and Journalism. Their price is R3760 to R4 178.
http://www.anneschuster.co.za/ – Anne Schuster offers the Women’s Writing Workshop. Appears to offer courses that focus on introspective writing – a good place to start – not a good place to stay for either yourself or your writing.
http://www.unisa.ac.za/Default.asp?Cmd=ViewContent&ContentID=7612 – UNISA (Pretoria) offer a correspondence BA in Creative Writing in both English and Afrikaans. Inquire at fees office for cost of this course or modules thereof.
http://www-za.iaj.org.za/index.htm?main_category=4 – Institute for the Advancement of Journalism(Parktown, Johannesburg) offers a range of courses during the year. User-friendly site, but again no costs advertised so you’ll have to email at email@example.com
http://web.wits.ac.za/Academic/Humanities/GSH/GraduateProgammes/MACoursework.htm – University of the Witwatersrand (Johannesburg). Many published graduates from this programme. No details on their website about the Creative Writing MA, may be in abeyance. Phone them to find out on 011-717-4032 or email them at firstname.lastname@example.org
http://www.commerce.uct.ac.za/organisations/creative_writing/application.asp – University of Cape Town. Full details available for the MA they offer in Creative Writing. Lots of published graduates from this programme.
http://www.writersbureaucourse.com/?gclid=CNrx0Kr00pQCFQ8gQgodyil1lg – The Writers Bureau is an international correspondence course based in the UK and they offer a guarantee on their courses. Exchange rate may be prohibitive for some of the overseas-based online courses.
Things that you might like to consider when deciding on where to take a course are: Who is teaching the course – what are their credentials? What type of interaction will I have with teachers or mentors to help solve problems that I may encounter? What exactly will I learn on the course. Ask for an outline so that you know what will be covered and the learning level at which the course is pitched?
Accept that there is no single course that is going to provide solutions to all your writerly needs, but the benefits that accrue from learning your craft well and making contact with people who are literary minded are well worth it.