PAULA WHYMAN
curiouswriter

In which we wonder about writing, food, music,  
& random curious events. 

Kermit Moyer, author of The Chester Chronicles, which I discussed here, has interesting things to say about the intersection between fiction and autobiography. After I heard his quote in a Writerscast interview, which I mentioned here, I knew he had only scratched the surface of his thoughts on the matter. Here, then, more on the subject from Kermit Moyer (and enough said by me).

I believe that the best way to tell the truth about yourself and your experience is to lie—that is, to write fiction rather than a memoir. Having just published an autobiographical novel called The Chester Chronicles, I can tell you that, first of all, it’s simply easier to tell uncomfortable truths about yourself when you seem to be talking about someone else. As the poet Richard Hugo has said,

The poem is always in your home town, but you have a better chance of finding it in another. . . . Though you’ve never seen it before, it must be a town you’ve lived in all your life. . . . [Here] it is easy to turn the gas station attendant into a drunk. Back home it would have been difficult because he had a drinking problem. (The Triggering Town)

But there’s another, even more crucial way that fiction is necessary if we’re going to tell the truth about our lives. If my recounting of my experience is to be as detailed and as richly textured as my experience has been, I have no choice but to use my imagination as much as, or more than, my memory. Because it’s simply impossible to do justice to life’s intricate and filigreed surfaces, its detailed particularities and varied textures, without resorting to imaginative invention.

And who can do without dialogue? But if dialogue occurs in a memoir, it tends to be suspect, to partake of the imagined rather than the remembered, since we can’t usually recall whole past conversations verbatim. So the inclusion of dialogue tends to compromise the memoirist’s primary obligation, which is to be true to the actual facts of the author’s life. The fiction writer’s primary obligation, on the other hand, is to be true to feeling rather than to facts. As E. L. Doctorow says:

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader—not the fact that it’s raining, but the feel of being rained on.

Finally, I think the special power of fiction has something to do not only with the way it can render a felt sense of life in all its intricacy but also the way it can render life’s moment-by-moment spontaneity and its constant openness to surprise. I may start with the feeling of a remembered situation, but to be true to my experience, I have to let things develop on the page as they will, just as they do in life. Sometimes they take a course I’m familiar with; sometimes—in fact, more often than not—they don’t. Unlike the memoirist, I am free to allow my narrative’s course to be open to the living moment and to unfold as organically as life itself does rather than being predetermined by the facts of my life.

Which is also why I opted to use the present tense for The Chester Chronicles, even though the point of view is retrospective: the present tense indicates that the recounted experience is happening again right now in the memory and imagination of the narrator, and of the reader. And if the reader is living through it imaginatively along with the narrator, the effect is to make readers feel like the story has happened to them too, that it is actually part of their own experience. And when that happens . . . well, that's it, isn't it? That's what we're aiming for.

Kermit Moyer grew up an Army brat in the 1950s. He got his BA, his MA, and his PhD in English from Northwestern University and in 1970 joined the faculty of American University in Washington, DC, where he taught literature and creative writing for 37 years. His short fiction has appeared in The Georgia Review, The Southern Review, The Sewanee Review, and The Hudson Review, and he is the author of Tumbling, a collection of stories published by the University of Illinois Press. He lives with his wife Amy and their dog Zora on Cape Cod.

This morning, I awoke to an NPR broadcast about the Supreme Court case pitting a Chicago gun owner against the city of Chicago [McDonald v. Chicago]. Opening arguments will be heard today. At stake is the ability of states to regulate gun ownership independently. This case came about because the Court struck down the DC gun law prohibiting handgun ownership. I was pretty annoyed about that Court decision, and I commented at the time on what I thought was then-candidate Barack Obama's wimpy response.

I'm not interested in making pro/con arguments in this space. As a writer, what interests me here is the preponderance of hyperbole on both sides. I heard more logical, thoughtful arguments when I participated in a debate about nuclear power in Ms. Jaworski's English class back in 10th grade.

Clearly, the best logic does not make the best sound bite.

Witness:

Representing Chicago, lawyer Jim Feldman: "If there were a free-floating right of self-defense, then you would have the right to a machine gun, or a bazooka, or who knows what else."

Paul Clement, arguing on behalf of the National Rifle Association: No reasonable person is going to think the 2nd amendment entitles them to a bazooka. But, "A machine gun is a more difficult question."

My kids: Forget the Wii, we want a bazooka! We want a bazooka NOW!

Me: Now, kids, you know that a machine gun is the best we can do.

Alan Gura, the lawyer for Otis McDonald, who's brought the case: The right to keep guns in the home for protecting yourself is like being allowed to keep contraceptives to protect yourself.

Me: Hey, in a pinch, this diaphragm makes a handy slingshot!

Gura again: We have freedom to choose our religion in this country; we should also have freedom to choose our weapons.

Me: I pick Buddhism and nunchucks.

Otis McDonald, when told he can legally have a shotgun in his home, but not a handgun: "Why should I have to be inconvenienced because of laws that are here to protect me?"

Me: Yeah! The government needs to stop protecting us, dammit! This is America--Pioneer spirit! Renew my driver's license? Why should I? I didn't forget how to drive. And wearing a seatbelt is so inconvenient. If I don't want to be protected in a crash, it's no one's business but my own. And while we're at it, getting my kid to school every day, that's really a pain. And you know what, this whole pay-your-taxes in order to get state services thing? That's gotta go.

Chicago Mayor Richard Daley: "So why is it you can't even go see a congressman with a gun? Why can't you carry a gun into a federal building?"

Me: Thank you for clearing that up. I was wondering why I kept getting wanded last time I was in a government building. I told them I left the bazooka in the garage, but, strangely, that only made them more intent.

Me: I knew I should've gone for the brass knuckles.

Obviously, the players in this case did not have Ms. Jaworski for 10th grade English, because they would all FAIL. Unlike my clever opponents in the debate who went on to CalTech and MIT and illustrious careers in science, and me, who went on to...to...

Dear Officer K--,

I am also the kind of person who gets annoyed when people are late. Is their time more important than mine? If we say 7pm for dinner, I will expect guests to arrive by 7:15. If you show up at 7:45, I may well view that as inconsiderate. So please know, Officer K--, I wish we were all prompt. The world would be a more thoughtful place.

However, if I invite you to dinner for 7pm, and you show up at 7pm on the nose, well, that's a little freaky. I might start to think that you actually arrived earlier, and that you were waiting outside my house for, say, 30 minutes, looking at your watch every few minutes, just to make sure. Maybe you were merely checking out the landscaping. Gazing in the windows to see if we'd done any repainting in the living room. Checking our mailbox. Taking notes. Which reminds me, the envelope containing my phone bill was torn at the corner. I'm sure you had nothing to do with that, though. But Officer K--, the singing, that was a bit much. Do you know what I mean? It's very flattering, don't get me wrong, and I have no critical skills in this area, and I always enjoyed "Some Enchanted Evening," I just never heard a rendition quite like yours, with the bullhorn, and the standard-issue revolver. So, show up early, that's fine. But please, no singing, and no shooting into the air. We have plenty of starlings around so that's really not what's bothering me about it. I think the cat made off with the carcass anyway. I never did find it. But, please understand, when you show up in the morning and kneel behind the forsythia with your binoculars, it weirds out the neighbors.

Thank you!

I've been called for jury duty. They say they expect me to be unbiased. Hahahaha!

Oh, wait; I think they were serious....

Anyway, this has me thinking. The courtroom is a place full of stories. Everyone there presents his own version of the truth. The "winner" can be the one who tells the best story, the story that sounds the most like the truth to the most people.

Does a fiction writer make a good juror? Or will we just "vote" for the best story? Will I be distracted by story flaws, the primary one in this situation, perhaps, being whether I believe this character would behave a particular way in the given situation?

The last time I was called for jury duty, I was sent to a courtroom for a criminal trial, but I was dismissed during voir dire. It was the trial of a young man who was accused of robbing a church, selling drugs, and possessing firearms. He looked, in my opinion, very comfortable in the courtroom, as if he'd been there many, many times before. This was of course not information that was shared with us. Regardless, I was sure he was guilty before anyone said a word. Oddly enough, it was the prosecutor who dismissed me.

But this is what writers do, isn't it? I see someone on the bus, and I make up a story in my head about who she is, where she's going, and why. I guess what she does for a living and what she was like in high school. I guess whether she's married and, if so, how it's going. Am I ever right about any of these speculations? I'll probably never know. But I bet I can write a convincing character sketch. Is there a situation in which I won't have an opinion? Unlikely. Does that make me biased, in the legal sense? I suppose that depends on whether I'm willing to change my mind.

Curious Spouse may have something to say about that...

In an interview with David Wilk on WritersCast.com, Kermit Moyer discusses his new novel, The Chester Chronicles, which I also talked about here. Wilk points out that the linked stories in Moyer's book are autobiographical, and Moyer explains why he chose not to simply write a memoir:

"I decided the best way to tell the truth about myself was to write fiction." That way, says Moyer, he can truly express an emotion that's real, even if the events built around it are made up.

Wilk adds that it's less important for the reader to know which parts of the story are fiction and which are real than it is for him or her to feel a connection with the character. Wilk says he felt this connection with the narrator of The Chester Chronicles, and he compares the book to A Separate Peace by John Knowles.

You can listen to the complete interview here.

1. We were both born in February! Happy Birthday, Mr. Ford!

2. We are both writers! (Bet you knew that was coming...)

3. Richard Ford is one of my favorite writers. (I'm sure he is one of his favorite writers, too. Why not?)

4. We both write novels. Richard Ford's novels have been published!

5. Some of Richard Ford's books take place in New Jersey. I have been to New Jersey many times. (See how these commonalities start to pile up?)

6. We both used the expression "gorked off" in a book to indicate someone dying. Richard Ford may have used it first.

7. Richard Ford keeps his manuscripts in the freezer. I keep pizza in the freezer. We both use our freezers!

8. We both attended that gala award reading last spring! We both had a few drinks, got our courage up, and had a nice conversation. (Maybe that was just me with the drinks. And the courage.)

Anyway, Happy Birthday, Mr. Ford, from a big fan.
Hope you have a great day, because before you know it, the good times are gone like a fart in a skillet.

Listen to the podcast of my NPR commentary on Independence Day, and two other books about desperate suburban men. Angst Lurks Behind the Lawn Mower was broadcast on All Things Considered.

The Authors Guild has developed a new way for authors to track what Amazon is doing to their book's page:

The Authors Guild is pleased to announce the launch of WhoMovedMyBuyButton.com, which is now live in fully-functional beta form. Who Moved My Buy Button? allows authors to keep track of whether Amazon has removed the "buy buttons" from any of their books.

Simply register the ISBNs of any books you'd like monitored, and our web tool will check daily to make sure your buy buttons are safe and sound. If there's a problem, we'll e-mail you an alert.

Although we've launched WhoMovedMyBuyButton.com in response to Amazon's wholesale removal of buy buttons from Macmillan titles, we believe Amazon should be monitored for years to come. Amazon's developed quite a fondness for employing this draconian tactic (there's a chronology at the website); it's only grown bolder with its growing market clout.

Vigilance is called for: sounding off is our best collective defense. Register your ISBNs today -- it's free and open to all authors, Guild members and not. (Though we'd prefer you join.)

Look here for more information and a screen shot.

And, if I may put in an additional word for the Authors Guild, they help make this here website possible, and I'm pretty happy about that.

See my guest post on novelist Susan Coll's blog, Alternate Sides: Adventures Along the Northeast Corridor, if you'd like to hear about my embarrassing experience on the USAir shuttle: The Apple Juice Fiasco.

And, while you're at it, read Susan's clever and funny posts about parking-- in particular, parking after a snowstorm in DC.

Susan Coll is the author of four very funny novels, including Acceptance, which was made into a film for Lifetime, and the forthcoming Beach Week. She is the fiction editor of Bethesda Magazine.

Kermit Moyer is not, technically, a new writer. But he is probably that great fiction writer you’ve never heard of. Until now. The Chester Chronicles is Moyer’s first book in more than twenty years, and his first novel.

Michael Cunningham calls Kermit Moyer “one of America’s undiscovered treasures.”

Publisher’s Weekly says Moyer’s stories “bring to mind the stories of Lorrie Moore.”

And according to Booklist, which gave the book a starred review, Moyer “displays an unerring feel for those moments that distill both the pathos and the comedy of growing up.”

In The Chester Chronicles, Chester "Chet" Patterson describes what life is like as an Army brat growing up in the 1950s and coming of age in the 1960s. His mother is a seductress and a lush, and his father is an Army officer whom Chet both resents and admires. Moving every two or three years, Chester is a perennial new kid as well as a bookish and movie-obsessed romantic. At the age of thirteen, he falls in love, he thinks, with his own first cousin. Each chapter could stand alone as a story about a pivotal moment, but taken together, the reader gets the whole of Chester's life. As Andre Dubus is quoted in the epigraph, "A life is a collection of stories." Each of Chester's stories takes him deeper into himself as well as a little farther into the century, during a time that includes the birth of rock and roll, the Civil Rights Movement, the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the assassination of President Kennedy.

As Lee K. Abbott says, “I am…keen to see that this moving [book] reach as many folks as have eyes.”



Kermit Moyer was my first teacher in MFA school. He soon became my mentor, thesis advisor, and friend. Back then, I read his collection of stories, Tumbling, which The New York Times called “impeccable,” when it was published in 1988. I was floored by Moyer’s ability to channel a child’s perspective in those stories, including the often sexually charged circumstances in which his characters found themselves. Now, in The Chester Chronicles, he has honed and concentrated this skill, conveying the richness of one man’s inner experience as he comes of age along with the 20th century.

Moyer has a surgical ability to pare down to just the right phrase to describe a sensation or a gesture. Here’s the beginning of one of my favorite chapters, “Learning to Smoke,” in which Chester, at the age of 13, gets lessons in a bit more than smoking from his older cousin:

My cousin Frenchie is teaching me how to French inhale—a neat trick that involves jutting out your jaw just far enough to draw the smoke up from between your lips directly into your flaring nostrils. I’m sure that the dizziness I’m feeling is caused less by the carbonized tobacco hitting my still pristine lungs than by the taste of Frenchie’s cherry-red lipstick on the Parliament’s famously recessed filter tip.

Kermit once told me that for him, writing could be a slow, methodical process, because he works like a painter who, with a whole huge canvas before him, concentrates on one tiny segment at a time, getting each detail right before moving on to the next and the next.

He may work like a painter, but these stories are like gems, cut with the greatest of care and attention. They communicate through the simple drama of truths, multifaceted, and yet without pretentious devices. They build to a whole life’s experience, and they sparkle.

The Chester Chronicles by Kermit Moyer is available now from Amazon and The Permanent Press. Read it, please. I am lucky to have such talented friends.

I will leave to others the discussion of what the iPad means for the future of books and publishing. Here's what concerns me about it...I tweeted this, but it bothers me so much that I've decided to preserve it here:

iPad = electronic feminine hygiene product through which you can listen to music.

Were there no women on the marketing team?

Hello?? Hello?? Mr. Jobs?