The Doctor Is In.

I occasionally give workshops and seminars in my Brooklyn Heights office on topics of interest to writers. If you would like to be notified about upcoming events, email me at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

Dear Dr. Sue,

This might be a strange question but perhaps other writers have faced it, since so many writers do use very personal experiences to create their fictional characters--as actresses create characters by finding them inside themselves.

The definitions of fiction and memoir have become less clear, less important. And this whole blur between fiction and real life in the marketplace has become quite threatening to me.

Since I’ve published I can’t tell you how many people have asked me if my book is about my own life. Many have even assumed it was and then started to communicate to me in softer tones, as if moved by a new compassion, having decided: poor you, this experience must have been really hard. Now I understand why you’re so screwed up.

The truth is, I invented everything in my novel. I used only some emotional truths that are real for me and my life but it is imagination and invention that enchants me when I write (and read). But given our cultural climate and all the talk show confessionals, it’s getting harder and harder to convince people I don’t write pure autobiography. Though I’m delighted I was convincing enough to make a reader believe it was all true and real.

Since my fictional material comes from dark and hidden places, getting my mask constantly challenged has been very destabilizing. It’s made me fearful of getting the next book published, as it deals with a woman in a mental hospital. I mean, is everyone going ask me if she is me? Am I psychotic? Etc. I’d be interested if other writers face this and how they deal with it. I find it really difficult and inhibiting.

Thanks,

The Masked Writer

Dear Masked,

First of all, congratulations on having written such a real and believable novel. Although some of the repercussions may be difficult for you, I hope you are proud of having accomplished what most serious writers hope to—you have created a world and filled it with characters and events so powerful that your readers are convinced it must be true. This is a tremendous achievement.

When we read a novel that engages us fully, it is hard to grasp that the world it depicts does not exist anywhere outside of the author’s and readers’ imaginations. This happens even when we are aware that the book is not “true” in a literal sense. And recently, as you point out, this awareness has been blunted. “Autobiography” is increasingly defined as “fiction in which actual people and events are artfully arranged to make the author look as interesting and important as possible,” and experimental writers devote themselves to dancing skillfully on the border of fact and fiction, inventing exciting new hybrid forms and causing honest novelists who just want to write their books and live their private lives privately to bang their heads against the keyboard in despair. The waters are further muddied by some novelists and publicists who draw attention to the parallels between the author’s story and that of the protagonist, as though the imagined world of the novel were in need of “real-world” validation.

These are minor inconveniences, though, compared to the cultural climate of “talk show confessionals” you allude to. It has become fashionable to bare one’s soul and relate the most intimate and traumatic details of one’s history in the most public forum available.

Therapists hesitate to condemn this trend wholesale. Many issues that used to be considered too shameful to discuss—rape, addiction, child abuse, mental illness—have been brought into the open. Victims who were previously isolated and silenced can now find solace, healing, and community. We certainly would not want to return to the days when these problems had to be hushed up and kept under wraps, when the façade of “normality” had to be rigidly maintained.

But along with enhanced understanding and acceptance of common human conditions has come an erosion of the concept of privacy. The assumption seems to be that since some people trumpet their trauma and heartbreak on national TV or in the pages of books and tabloids, these must be fit subjects for polite conversation among acquaintances.

You don’t say what the subject of your first book was, but using your new book as an example: There is nothing shameful about mental illness, and it’s great that people recognize this. At the same time, if you had undergone a psychiatric hospitalization, this would be private information for you to share when, and with whom, you chose to do so. Publishing a novel, even if it draws heavily on real life, does not constitute an open invitation to pry into that life.

You cannot control what people surmise about your experience. People will believe what they want to, and most, given the choice between two explanations of a phenomenon, will choose the juicier one. Generally, this is not the scenario that features you sitting at the computer making things up.

You can, however, communicate, tactfully but clearly, that some topics are off-limits. When readers allude to any aspect of your private life in connection with your novel, stop them dead. Tell them that you are gratified that your book was powerful enough to make them forget it was fiction. If they persist, turn that pitying look back on them and explain, as though to a four-year-old, that novels, by definition, are not factual, and that a novelist’s job is to exercise her imagination in the service of an artistic goal. Repeat the explanation, with suitable variations, as often as necessary until the reader grasps that he or she is being rude and intrusive, though you are too gracious to say this directly.

This technique takes some practice. It is hard for many of us to feel entitled to shut a door in another’s face. Keep reminding yourself that it is your door, and the fact that you are hosting a garden party on your front lawn does not entitle the guests to barge in and inspect your bedroom.

Susan O’Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A well-published author herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

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Comments

[Kate Maloy]

Wonderful question and wonderful column. I'm pretty sure lots of novelists are trying to see clearly in this newly blurred world. I'm one of them--I'm just starting to think about a new novel that will draw heavily on personal experience but will not in any way DESCRIBE that experience or be about me or people close to me. To the contrary, I mean to be very deliberate about blurring those particular boundaries. I want to hide the literal facts behind the larger truths that invention can lead to. And I'm already shaking in my shoes. Your advice is immensely helpful, especially the part about remembering whose door this is. Thanks--and thanks to Masked, too.

[LBellatrix]

My first time to your blog and WOW...this is exactly what I needed to hear. I'm currently working on short stories that happen to be based (VERY VERY LOOSELY) on events from my own childhood and people automatically assume that it's autobiography. I feel good about the idea that my characters feel real enough to be mistaken as real but after reading this post I see that I have to make sure I include the phrase VERY VERY LOOSELY when describing these stories from here on out. Maybe I'll throw in an extra few VERYs for the stubborn people. Thanks.

[katharine weber]

This column is for writers, but if only more readers could be made aware of the complexity of these issues!

Readers have been conditioned by what our culture does to books these days. There is an expectation that the "right" way to read a work of fiction is to decode it, to find the "truth," to find the "reality," to identify the parts that really happened to actual people, to find the connections between the author's life and the situations and characters in the book. Far too many readers have lost, or never developed, an appreciation for the craft of fiction. These days, people esteem imaginative product far less than they value actual experience rendered on the page in some fashion.

What a loss. And it feeds itself. The decline in reading literary fiction, the growing public preference for memoir and biography and "biography of a subject" books, is, I think, a reflection of the same trend that has led to all the so-called reality TV that domnates the airwaves. The truth is, we are starved for genuine experience, and have less all the time. The world comes to us through our computer screens, we sit alone clcking a keyboard. The inability to tolerate fiction without seeking the "reality" that must drive it seems to me a symptomatic displacement of this loneliness.

[Susanne Dunlap]

Dr. Sue, again, an incredibly insightful column. It's remarkable to me that people seem unwilling to accept a work of fiction as fiction. As an author of historical novels, I face this in a different way, often dealing with questions about how much of my novel is based in fact and how much not (and I forgive readers for asking, because historical fiction does beg the question). But you'd be surprised how often I'm asked when I go to book groups whether any of my 17th-century characters is like me. I almost feel as if I am disappointing them when I say that, actually, I don't really see myself in any of the female characters in the novel. I never understood why they were so keen to ask, and your column has definitely given me some insight into that.

And fabulous comment, Katharine.

[judy b.]

First, M.J., I'm sorry you're illin' and I hope you kick the bug soon.

As to the question...

I am grateful when a reader engages in the dialogue I've started with a piece of writing and asks any question about it. I see writing as a conversation starter, a prompt, an instigation. I think "Is this autobiographical?" is one of the first questions that springs to a non-writer's mind. I think the real question is often, "How could you have possibly imagined that – I never would have come up with that scenario. It must have happened to you." I try to answer the question in a way that continues the conversation, rather than shuts it down - which is what a sigh and a condescending look will do.

I am not a craftsperson; I am an artist. My work is autobiographical the way a Matisse painting is autobiographical: It is emotion and experience and opinion reconstituted and repackaged, conveyed in a language of my devising. I want to provoke the kinds of reactions I have to paintings and music. I want to make my readers feel – not think about how the characters must feel, but experience real feelings themselves.

Art is an expression of life and, one hopes, inspires a new way of living. I grew up in the American Middle West, which prepares its citizens/readers poorly to appreciate art. I decided long ago that one of my functions in the creative realm is to demystify art (whether literary, visual, or fine) for the laity. While I will prattle on about creative expression of all kinds and the function of artists in a society, I try not to lecture people but to inspire them to follow their own queries to a deeper understanding of art - perchance even to create something of their own – and ultimately I want to provide the catalyst for a richer experience of life. Thus, I love talking to people, and I am glad to offer a hand to help them find their way through what can be, even for us creators, a daunting forest.

[Dr.Sue]

Thank you , Kate, Katharine, and Susanne--and welcome, LBellatrix!

Judy, it's wonderful that you are so open to engaging with and educating readers. Your readers are very lucky, and all writers can benefit from having more enlightened readers. I hope, though, that you can appreciate that many writers do feel violated by persistent personal questions, and that committing to the sort of dialogue you describe is a choice, not an obligation. A "sigh and a condescending look" that "shuts down the conversation" is exactly what is called for when anyone--reader, neighbor, stranger--refuses to acknowledge personal boundaries, which was this writer's concern.

[judy b.]

Dr. Sue, I do agree that when someone invades one's boundaries by asking personal questions, one must push back. I also take your point that discussing one's work or writing in general is a choice, not an obligation – but Masked Writer did not say she doesn't like to talk about her work, she asked how to field a specific question she realizes is a common one. I read in her letter that she feels annoyed and perhaps insulted – indeed, the autobio question can be insulting and annoying, because it comes up frequently, especially for authors who write in the first person. Heck, my *friends* – who *know* I have never been an accountant, didn't repeat second grade, do not have any children or private body piercings or chef boyfriends from France – they ask me if my stories really happened to me or are otherwise based in fact. They just don't know any better!

To be an artist is to be misunderstood – that is, if you're doing the job right. While there certainly are intrusive readers out there, I think in *most* cases the autobio question is born of a combination of ignorance of the creative process and ignorance of how to talk about art.

Masked Writer, people want to impress you, because you have impressed them, and it's good to remember that it takes courage for someone to step out of an audience to ask a question. It's intimidating for less-verbal people to express their thoughts and admiration to a language expert, and once a person realizes he's asked a poorly formed question – a "dumb" question, you might say – his awkwardness can compound to the point that his attempts to redeem himself make him seem rude.

I think we serve ourselves – and our art – much better when we respect earnest queries and give a questioner a chance to clarify her intent before reacting harshly. Asking, "What makes you think this must be true?" might invite a flattering revelation: "Well, I used to be hooked on meth, and you totally nailed every detail. I mean, I don't know how someone who's never spun on crank could get it like you did. I had to stop reading because, it's like—whoa…"

Back to Dr. Sue's point: Yes, an invasive or rude questioner deserves to be shut down. But I maintain that condescension is not the right tone to take.

Condescension is itself a form of aggression/oppression, so it validates the pushy person's tactic and thus is likely to fuel the individual's resolve. I have found that refusing to engage is more effective and more satisfying. Instead of patronizing a rube, I'd say something like: "Again, thanks for the compliment – it's great to hear that my imaginings are so vivid and convincing. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to refresh my drink/ check in with a friend over there /find my escort /make a phone call /go to my next engagement." Then leave.

[Amra Pajalic]

Dr Sue's advice brings to mind a personal dilemma that I faced a few years ago along these lines.

I have a scar down the middle of my chest from a heart operation when I was a child. For years I felt invaded as people, in a lot of instances complete strangers I hadn't exchanged a word with, would come up and ask me about my scar.

I read an article that a woman in a wheelchair wrote about people thinking that it was appropriate to make small-talk by asking her how and why she ended up in a wheelchair and it opened my eyes.

At the end of the day there are things that are private and just because they are visible does not mean they are public property.

Having undergone this affirmation I find it very easy to employ Dr Sue's technique when people refer to my characters as me. Even though some of their experiences mirror mine I write fiction so that I can employ some distance and privacy. If I wanted a confessional forum to discuss my hard-luck experiences I would have written non-fiction.

While this question is one of my favourite questions to pose to authors--it is always a question and never assumption. And readers can ask, but when they cross the line and assume and invade, they need to be put back in their place.

[Dr.Sue]

You put it beautifully, Amra. Thanks for commenting.