Writer, not

“I’m the type of person who…”

Fill in the unfinished sentence in any way that you wish, but it strikes me as being one of the oddest statements one could make about oneself. I am particularly puzzled when someone feels compelled to tell me, in just that way, type of person they are. Did I ask? Then why? Is my demeanor telegraphing a need to know your Myers-Briggs score?

Yet I hear it frequently, in exactly that delivery: I’m the type of person who.

Speaking as a (pretend) writer, that one statement violates a cardinal rule of writing: show me, don’t tell me. Speaking as a manifestly introverted anti-socialite (and yes, I too am telling you what type of person am I), it comes across as both false, and needlessly self-aggrandizing. For consider, no one ever says: I’m the type of person who shies away from confrontation; or, I’m the type of person who cheated his way through school; or, I’m the type of person who likes to poke kittens with a pointed stick.

Instead, it’s more commonly along the lines of, I’m the type of person that you want to respect and admire.

In other words, make that sort of statement to me, and both you and your motives are thenceforth suspect.

Having (obsessively) thought about why that presentation bothers me so, it became much more clear to me why it is important to show, rather than tell, when writing fiction. Yes, telling is easy. It gets the point across quickly. And perhaps it’s even sometimes necessary.

But it’s also a presentation, a fiction of an already fictional world that you are trying to create. It is a further removal of the reader from first-hand experience.

As a person, I have my own brain, and I don’t want to be told what to think. I want the right to form my own opinions and judgments.

As a writer, I owe you at least that much freedom in return.

Note to self: make good on that debt.

My current WIP, like my previous novel, is based in the not too distant past. While I like creating an environment for my story, I try wrap it in an actual, true to life setting, both in place and time. To me it’s very important to have all the details, as well as the overall feeling, ring true, because even though I wasn’t in Boston in 1940, surely some (potential) readers were.

I want the reader to not only find the setting detailed and plausible, but perhaps even achingly familiar. An overlooked detail, such as the brand of a Sears-bought bicycle, or the fact that August 23, 1940 was a Friday and not a Tuesday, could make a scene, or setting, or entire novel land with a thud.

The internet, of course, makes many of the tedious tasks of research easy. Almost too easy. At the other end of the spectrum, there is no better source than someone who was actually there, in that time and place. But of course, memories are notoriously inaccurate.

And I generally don’t like to talk to people. Probably a bad thing.

But I do like newspapers.

Old newspapers are one of the best resources available, in my opinion. Local libraries often have an archive of local papers, sometimes in the original paper, or more commonly on film or microfiche. Some of the great newspapers, like the Times, also have online resources for full-page renditions of the original pages. A wonderful tool.

More generally, though, online databases–also wonderful tools, I use them all the time–are limited to just the news.

It’s one thing to read the headlines and news stories of a particular day; it’s another all together to see that actual page from that time, to read the advertisements adjacent to the stories, to browse the classified ads, the comics, the movie listings, the obituaries.

All very mundane stuff.

But it’s the mundane stuff, the dress and lingerie ads run adjacent to the war casualty lists, that really help define a place and time.

I have a thing for libraries, and actually keep a tally of those I’ve visited. A favorite, although I’ve not been there in many years, is the New York Public Library, now celebrating its 100th birthday.

Unfortunately, ideas of public good and public treasures seem to be changing, in ways that I don’t like (it’s a very strange world when we need to defend libraries from charges like, “Are Libraries Necessary, or a Waste of Tax Money?”). The NYPL itself is facing a $40 million budget cut, and may need to cut branches and services, perhaps down to just four days per week.  Sad.

So now I am immersing myself even deeper in the works of Alan Furst and David Downing, masters of historical intrigue-and-espionage novels. I just yesterday finished Furst’s “The Foreign Correspondent”, and will soon be starting “The Spies of Warsaw”. Then on to Downing’s “Stettin Station”.

Furst in particular has a way of drawing me in to his stories. There is no magical, super-spy stuff. Just ordinary people, compelled to action, however large or dangerous. As he stated in an interview:

“We see [World War II] as the period of our best selves, when we rose to confront evil,” says Furst. “Researchers asked people who had been in the resistance, ‘Why did you do it?’ And again and again they got the same answer: ‘Because I was asked.’ I had that same response after 9/11. I said to myself, ‘Half the population in America would love to be asked to do something. They would only need to be asked and they would be so happy to help.’ ” That, finally, is what Furst’s stories are about: people responding to evil.

– An interview with Alan Furst, Book Magazine, Sep/Oct 2002

With family, including teenagers and a dog, I live in a busy household. Writing space, not to mention time, is difficult to come by.

Years ago I read that George Lucas would repair to a small desk under the eaves of his house to do his writing. Here is my version of that theme, a small dormer in the attic. Sparse and not terribly comfortable, it is the best space I’ve found so far. I’m actually productive here.

Note the wobbly table, beat-up chair, inspiration posted on the wall, and the cans of caffeine.

I like it best here during rainstorms.  The rain pounds the roof above my head, and fills the whole attic with wonderful white noise.  I also like the space carved out by the dormer.  It’s just the right feeling of boundaries for me.  I just hope I can stand the heat when summer arrives.

What is your writing hide-away?  Can you stand to be alone with the rafters?  Or are you one of those souls who could write a sonnet on the subway?

Stumbled across this at GalleyCat and ReadWriteWeb:  an amazing app that helps identify mis-sorted books. Wish I’d thought of that, instead of wasting all that time studying rocket science.

Another instance of, here’s a list of books you haven’t read, thereby proving to the world that you are a complete loser.  And here I thought my inadequacies were self-evident.

Esquire magazine is convinced that every man should read these 75 books.  Frankly, I’m not impressed with their selections.  Perhaps that’s because I’ve only read four.

How far ahead of me are you?

Via GalleyCat, this page of damage suffered last week at various libraries around Japan.

At least some things are fixable.

I had a great experience at the NH Writers’ Project celebration of Writers’ Day 2011 this past weekend. This was the 18th annual conference, and was headlined by Paul Harding, author of Tinkersand, incidentally, winner of the 2010 Pulitzer Prize for fiction.

And yes, he did sign his book for me.  A very funny and personable fellow, we exchanged some witty banter and cemented a lasting friendship…of which he seems oddly unaware.  But I’m quite sure some illuminating photons of greatness shot straight out from his glasses and landed on me—right before he said something about restraining order and grabbed for the pepper spray.

None the less, a great crowd of writers, authors, editors and agents converged for a full day of workshops, encouragement, conversation, and networking.  I’m happy to report that I came away with a renewed enthusiasm for writing, and my current work-in-progress.  The winter doldrums (such a great word!)

The Doldrums—the region’s light, shifting, and sometimes completely absent winds—are notorious for trapping sailing ships for days, or even weeks, without enough wind to power their sails.

– via Wikipedia

…yes, they are finally lifting.  Back to work.

From the NH Writers’ Project Writer’s Day Conference, held yesterday, documented proof of my brush with greatness (photo credit:  John Herman of the NH Writers’ Project).

Paul Harding, author of Tinkers and last year’s winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, was our keynote speaker.