Writer to writer: From think to ink - Gail Carson Levine 2014
Stranger than fiction
Aspects of story
There’s an adage for writers: “Write what you know.” Let’s look at it in light of these questions from a writer called Le, who wrote, “I have an idea for a fiction novel, but the inspiration for the story is from my own life. Some of the characters I want to put in the story will be similar, but not exactly like people I know. Have you ever done this? Have you used people you know as inspiration, and if so, have they noticed they are similar to your characters? Were they happy about this, or offended?”
Naturally, what we know best are our experiences and the people around us. There’s nothing wrong with using them. Real people are great as a boost for concocting complicated, interesting characters almost instantly, and autobiographical fiction is no less an act of creation than making everything up is.
Years ago, I contributed a story to a book about grandmothers, called In My Grandmother’s House. Most of the pieces are reminiscences. The contributors may be some of your favorite authors, such as Beverly Cleary, Diane Stanley, and Jean Craighead George, and you may want to know about their grandmas, who were almost all delightful and loving, and skilled cookie bakers.
I imagined an evening at the apartment of my grandmother and my two aunts. (I had only one grandmother, since my father was orphaned when he was very young.) Although my story is fictional, the evening could have actually taken place. Grandma’s gambling loss really did happen—she always lost. I disliked her and my aunts, who were all mean to my mother.
They were dead by then, likewise my parents, but my mother’s brother was still alive, and I didn’t want to hurt him, so I told him about the project. He was horrified that I thought he might interfere with my creativity and told me to go ahead.
I did not ask for permission from his children. If they objected, they could write their own stories. Writing the piece was surprisingly moving, especially bringing my parents back to life. Details flooded in, with help from my sister, and I re-created our family in the early 1960s.
No one has ever complained.
Intention counts. I didn’t write the story to be unpleasant or to hurt feelings. If you’re respecting the real people, if you’re even honoring them, they’re likely to be pleased. They may feel important and be impressed that you paid attention. Joan Abelove, who had a brain injury a few years after writing her books, likes my poems about her even though they often mention the downside of memory loss.
I have gotten into trouble on other occasions. I named an MC in one of my books after a family member. I meant it as a compliment, but she didn’t feel complimented and didn’t tell me. I found out years later from someone else. I named the fairy Rani in the Disney Fairies series after my sister, who gave me permission, but then she wasn’t happy about some of the shenanigans her namesake got into.
There is also the issue of invasion of privacy. Along these lines, Mya wrote on the blog, “I’ve had a few incidents happen in my life that are definitely out of the ordinary and involve love. I’m just dying to pen it all down, but I wonder how I should do so, without making it obviously similar to what really happened, so that I don’t feel like I’m offending the other people’s privacy. Any help?”
I wrote that opinions differ.
Say, for instance, that in real life Isaac kissed Ondine tentatively, a quick peck. Then, say, Ondine set down her big yellow purse for a longer, more satisfying meeting of the lips. Just as her arms went around Isaac’s neck, a three-legged dog ran off with the purse, and a chase through Riverfront Park ensued. Later that night, Ondine told her friend Ana the whole story, which ended with the recovery of the purse but no more kisses.
If Ana asks and gets permission from Isaac and Ondine to write the incident down, even to post it on her blog, she’s home free, even if Isaac’s dad isn’t happy when he reads the post. But if she posts the story, names included, without asking, I say it’s an invasion of privacy, whether or not Ondine said the anecdote was confidential.
However, some people disagree with me. They believe that the price of friendship or even family connection with a writer is the chance of appearing in print. Writers write, so this reasoning goes, and everything is fodder.
Now let’s say Ana loves Ondine’s anecdote and she’s a writer but also a loyal friend. She lets a year go by, then writes a short story that revolves around this incident, but she changes the names of the characters. The story is one of her best, and it’s published in a magazine neither Isaac nor Ondine nor any of their friends or relatives are likely to read.
Is this okay?
I think so, as long as the names were changed. It’s certainly fine if Ana calls Isaac Anthony and Ondine Sonya and she has Sonya kiss Anthony first, and Anthony sets down his leather briefcase, which is taken by a three-legged coyote on 169th Street in New York City. Ana has definitely changed more than enough to protect the privacy of the real players.
In Ana’s case, she may have improved the story by altering it, which often happens. We cast about for ways to change the events without losing their essence, and ideas pop up that add interest. Sometimes the essence actually becomes more concentrated. Real life meanders. Fiction is tighter.
We can also combine true stories. Think about dramatic or funny moments in your life and in the lives of people you know. Ask your parents and other relatives for incidents. Ask friends, teachers, librarians. List what you get and stare at the list. Maybe you’ve got these three that appeal to you more than any of the others: The first time Daryl met Frank, he had a hamster poking out of his shirt pocket. When she was four, Hester fell off the swings at her playground and landed on her head, which, she says, explains a lot. Joanne backed her car into a police car the day after she got her driver’s license.
What can you do with them? Can you combine them into an entirely new story?
In a new scenario, suppose you rename Vince, your real friend, Samuel and turn him into a character, keeping everything about him the same, except for his appearance and his habit of yelling, “Shark sushi!” whenever he’s surprised. Once you throw him into new situations, you’re not invading his privacy. As soon as he acts in circumstances that you’ve invented, he becomes your creation.
If you’re afraid of hurting feelings, you can discuss what you’re planning with the people involved. You won’t know their reactions until they react. One person may be flattered, someone else insulted, and then you can decide what to do. But you don’t have to tell if you’re changing the characteristics that will clearly identify them (like the “Shark sushi” expression) and moving events around. You can even deny. Without too much wickedness you can say, “You think you’re like that? Huh! How fascinating!”
It isn’t hard to disguise people. If you make Vince short when he’s tall, give him a talent for the accordion, and have him be deathly allergic to peanuts, you are home free. Besides, it’s likely that if you write your characters precisely as you experience their real-life counterparts, they won’t recognize themselves. The girl you know is beautiful may see herself as ugly, or she may not be aware of how smart she is. The person who truly is a miserable human being will very probably not see himself in the villain unless you give the villain his first and last name.
If you are combining characteristics of real people—Melanie’s generosity with Bill’s habit of never covering his mouth when he yawns with Pam’s inability to apologize—you are on entirely safe ground.
One more consideration, however: You also want to protect your own privacy. If you’re basing a story on your own experiences, you can fictionalize yourself, too, especially if you’re planning to post it online and your tale contains anything you wouldn’t be proud for important people in your life to see. Change your name, your appearance, your gender, your habit of shouting “Shark sushi!”
Having said all this, life is an author’s source. Don’t hold back from dipping into the well.
Writing time!
• Write a memory as if it were a story. Make up the missing bits. Take yourself back to the moment with sensory details: what you see, hear, smell, touch. Include the mood and your thoughts and feelings. If you like, extend the memory beyond what you recall into a fictionalized future. Invent an ending.
• Think of a time when you were victimized, maybe teased or ganged up on. Replace yourself with someone you know. Write how that person would have handled the situation. Make it into a story.
• Ondine’s friend Ana posts the kiss escapade on her blog. Ondine is merely furious, but Isaac, also a writer, starts typing his revenge. Write what he writes and what ensues.
• Write, solely for yourself, a true story you have no business sharing with anyone. If you feel like being mean, be mean. If you have feelings that might not meet with general approval, include them. The process may bring relief, if you’re describing an incident that caused you pain. Hide what you’ve written where it won’t be found, but save it. A day may come when no harm will be done by sharing. And you may want to look at it now and then.
Have fun, and save what you write!