Projecting experience

A few years ago, I saw fiction writer Jen Weiner speak at the college I used to work at, and during the Q&A session that followed her reading, the inevitable Question All Fiction Writers Get Asked Eventually came her way: how much of what you write is literally true, and how do you disguise people you know and experiences you've had? Her answer was something along the lines of well, you know, there are many people who would say that all of our writing and fame is fleeting, and that in a hundred years, no one will remember either our work or the characters in it, so why not go for broke and just portray friends, enemies, relatives, co-workers, partners, lovers, exs, parents, siblings, offspring, and acquaintances as they really are.

Then she paused.

"I don't know where these people have Thanksgiving dinner, but I've gotta SEE my family, so..."

This hurdle doesn't present itself too often in my work and my life. I generally don't have any problem taking my experiences and my feelings and transferring them to my characters, to my story... fictionalizing them and disguising them, dressing them up, so that they're somewhat unrecognizable. If anything, I find I have the opposite problem: too often I project my experiences and feelings onto my fiction and fictitious characters, and (for lack of a better term) express my emotions and my experiences through them.

So, for instance, while I could complain about what I feel is shoddy treatment at the hands of a former employer, I find it easier to write about it in one of my characters' voices. I don't want to burn bridges, and complaining in my blog about the way this former employer handled management of her restaurant, the staff, the customers, the payroll, and so on, might be the literary equivalent... even though in many ways, the shaft I got feels like HER "burning bridges."

But I've gotta get it out... so I log into one of my characters' email accounts and, in 20-something Vermont waitress Maura Kelly's voice, complain that...

...what happened was, it took us FOREVER to close, our dinner hours are 5-9 and of course that doesn't mean "we kick you out at 8:59" it means "kitchen open." So we have RESERVATIONS THAT JILL TOOK COMING IN AT NINE!!!!!! Two of which ordered full dinners, one table (a couple) staying till 11:10!!!!! So we have basically everything done but have to wait till this couple clears out. They weren't my table but I was helping Bethany with them. And complaining about Jill the whole time. Jill as I have told you is a dingdong. She takes rezs up till 9, first of all, but then since she's the owner she thinks she has to stand there and HOST and she just doesn't seat people logically. Like if a couple comes in and there's a four top open, she doesn't get Matt to quick go over and break the fourtop down into a twotop (so we can seat a couple later), she seats the couple at the fourtop IMMEDIATELY, thus tying up two empty seats, and of course when it's busy like it was last night those two seats can get filled easily, we had people waiting at the bar most of the night. And she did this a bunch of times last night. And I said to Jenniphyr (who is now really showing baby bump) "is it me or could we break these fourtops down?" and she said "Good luck."

But most annoying of all aside from the rampant seating illogic is that she LEAVES AT 8 PM. She is the owner but leaves an hour before closing, creates this seating logjam and nightmare, leaves all these people waiting for tables that COULD BE OPEN IF SHE JUST THOUGHT LOGICALLY, and then leaves us to deal with it.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyotch

My complaining about the restaurant and its owner? Scary. Maura complaining about the restaurant and its owner? "Safe."

Or, when I get the news from my father about a medical condition he's facing right now, and I feel like I can't get it out, can't sort through it, all that, I find it easy to write about it through my characters. Even there, though, I found that I handled it obliquely: not really writing about it directly (ie, having either a character with the same condition or a character whose father has the same condition write about it), but having peripheral characters write about it... even going so far as to send sympathetic and comforting notes to the character whose father has the condition... "He'll be fine, don't worry, this is treatable."

Saying the things I want and need someone to say to me, in other words.

In many ways, fiction writing is daring and scary, but in some other ways, I'm learning, it can be a dangerous safety zone. One should always try to express truth in whatever one writes. And of course "I have to live with these people:" my family, my friends, the people in the small town I'm now calling home... acquaintances who, God knows, might well find this blog and see themselves in it.

But I've gotta get it out. And somehow, lately, writing about it obliquely seems less and less effective, safe, or wise.

I don't know the answer. All I know is, in creating fiction, I don't want my characters or my stories to assume ownership of my emotions. As one who has spent the better part of a decade feeling somewhat awash and emotionally numb, I'd like to hang onto those, thank you.

So if you read this blog and you see yourself, I hope it's in a good light. And I hope the bridge isn't aflame.