Personal essays

I've recently been reading The Norton Book of Personal Essays. I recommend this book to anyone who is interested in essay writing and memoir. As you might know, my thesis centered on creative nonfiction, and the personal essay is something that I've been studying lately. Some of the selections in this book are very good. Favorites so far: Willa Cather's A Chance Meeting, F. Scott Fitzgerald's Sleeping and Waking, and H.L. Mencken's Reflections on Journalism.

A great writer....and St. Louisan!!

Eddy L. Harris has written several memoirs. His first book, Mississippi Solo, is a tremendous adventure story about a man (Eddy) who travels the entire Mississippi river alone -- in a canoe. I've posted about Eddy before, but I found this interview with him that I thought was pretty well done. In the interview, he talks about Mississippi Solo and his approach to writing. (I won't bog this blog down with videos. It's just something new I've discovered.)

Where have I been? Thanks for asking...

I received an email from a wonderful friend of mine who said she actually reads this blog. I knew that there were a few of you out there, but I didn't know that you'd miss it -- even a little bit. So, here is my excuse for not updating for nearly two months: I have been finishing up my thesis. Yes, I finished it. Yes, it's now turned in to Missouri State University's Graduate College for review. Yes, I will graduate with a Masters in English-Creative Writing on May 16! Finally. Four years of pecking at this degree will finally yield fruit. What fruit? I have no clue. But hopefully it's something tasty.

With my thesis, I tried to couple my passion for journalism with my passion for creative writing, so the final product was a collection of three creative nonfiction pieces -- stories from my life that I hope people (at least those on my thesis committee) could maybe find somewhat thought-provoking. One piece is called "Spiritual Battle," and it examines my relationship with my idol, my grandfather and his reaction to my marriage announcement. (Grandpa, a devout Catholic, my godfather and confirmation sponsor, felt I was abandoning my religion by so readily agreeing to be married in another church.) Another is called "Hope for Change" and it reflects on my experience seeing an African man hanging from a tower in downtown Springfield. That day and that image have changed me. The third is called "Goat Lady" and is the "story behind the story" of an article I wrote when I was a working journalist.

I have been neck deep in this thesis for a year. I'm glad I did it, but I had some issues with the whole creative non-fiction thing. Here is an excerpt from my Introduction that might help you understand the "issues" that I faced:

I’ve heard and read that the freedom that comes with creative nonfiction is liberating. If liberation means that I can “play tennis without the net” then I would agree. But if liberation means turning the microscope on myself and revealing my opinions and criticisms to the world, then I’ve found that to be excruciating.

Journalists have the safety of providing the facts and letting their readers make up their own minds. With creative nonfiction, the author shares his subjective thoughts. That part was a challenge. However, I discovered it is easier for me to criticize myself than to criticize others. With this collection, I try to open up – I really do. I do my best to be intimate. I present the facts. I experiment with style and structure. But when it comes to criticizing others, I often find myself fading back into the shadows of “Here are the facts. You decide.”

Anyway, the clouds are lifting and I'm am re-energizing to pick up where I left off on the novel. It's a great story. I just hope I can tell it!

"Cousin, you live, even if you dance to my tune"

I just picked up a copy of Writers on Writing, Volume II. I was struck by Dorothy Gallagher's essay: "Recognizing the Book that Needs to be Written."

As you know, my thesis is a series of creative nonfiction pieces. I have been struggling with what to include in my stories, how much truth there needs to be and whether everything must be shared.

The complete essay can be found here on the NY Times site. Here are a few exerpts from the essay that I thought I'd share:

I have never written fiction, and this memoir may be as close as I ever get to it. No more than a biography or a novel is memoir true to life. Because, truly, life is just one damn thing after another. The writer's business is to find the shape in unruly life and to serve her story. Not, you may note, to serve her family, or to serve the truth, but to serve the story. There really is no choice. A reporter of fact is in service to the facts, a eulogist to the family of the dead, but a writer serves the story without apology to competing claims.

***

Now you may ask: Just what is the relation of your memoir to the truth?

It is as close as it can be.

The moment you put pen to paper and begin to shape a story, the essential nature of life -- that one damn thing after another -- is lost. No matter how ambiguous you try to make a story, no matter how many ends you leave hanging, it's a package made to travel.

Everything that happened is not in my stories; how could it be? Memory is selective, storytelling insists on itself. But there is nothing in my stories that did not happen. In their essence they are true.

Or a shade of true.

***

What do you think about these ideas?

Snow days are great for productivity

Today was a great day.

Like a kid, I was excited to have a snow day. Usually, I enjoy getting up and going to work -- even on Mondays. But this morning I was still struggling with a mean sickness that has dogged me and the rest of my family for more than three weeks. So, it was nice to see that I'd have another day to recover. In the mean time, I was able to complete another 11 pages of my thesis and FINALLY finish Erik Larson's Devil in the White City. I just finished the book a few minutes before midnight.

If you haven't read this book, go out and buy it today. Fantastic book. It leaves no stone unturned. Great historic piece filled with suspense and mystery, as well as an in-depth look at one of the most influential happenings in our country's history -- the Chicago World's Fair.

The book only left me with one question. As a St. Louisan, I've always held tight to the legend that the massive Ferris wheel that appeared at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair (but which debuted at the earlier exposition in Chicago) was dismanteled and is buried in Forest Park. Larson's book stops short of saying where those massive sections of steel went. So, Erik, if you're reading this, can you help me out on that??

Did I say it was a great book? I need to post some snippets, so you can see what I'm talking about.

Keep the action going

I'm still reading Erik Larson's Devil in the White City. It's still a very good book that concentrates on two stories: the architechts who create the 1898 World's Fair in Chicago, and a maniacal serial killer operating a few blocks away.

Larson is an incredible writer, and he has done awesome research on this subject. No proverbial stone is unturned. But the strong -- albeit sensational -- part of the story is the serial killer. And what I've found is that I'm fascinated by his story. But, as the book progresses (I'm on page 238), his story is interrupted by HUGE chunks of that which concentrates on the architects. When that happens, the action (for me, anyway) slows down considerably. It's frustrating. I want to skip those parts and flip pages to find more about the killer. I won't, though, because I want the full experience the way the author intended.

This does not discount the author's writing ability because I find him to be tremendous. And, in all fairness to the author, this book was in the history section of Barnes and Noble rather than the true crime section. So, I'm guessing that the main thrust (and, obviously, the part with the most archival material) is the architect story with the serial killer just being an added bonus.

I still recommend this title.

Some questions:

Have you had this experience with books before? If so, what titles? (I think the worst was the "Left Behind" series. I did skip around through those!)

Are there tricks to keep the action going, rather than bogging the reader down in detail?

Are writers cheating the reader if we don't provide the "details" -- even if they're mundane?

A new book I'm reading

I hate to admit that I once again put down Sinclair Lewis' Main Street!

A colleague in the Missouri State University's Special Collections and Archives recommended Erik Larson's Devil in the White City. WOW!! This is a great historic novel -- so far. I picked it up at Barnes and Noble in Denver. I started reading it yesterday, and I can't put it down. It's the true story of a cunning and vicious serial killer who was taking advantage of the 1898 World's Fair in Chicago to lure and kill his victims. Larson switches each chapter between the architechts of the fair and the killer -- who could seriously be one of the sickest, most-vile in history. Larson (a former feature writer for the Wall Street Journal, shows that he pays attention to each and every sentence. Well done. I can't wait to get back to it!

It's also very encouraging, since my thesis is creative nonfiction.

Archival treasures -- and a little apology

First off, I want to apologize for the "little vacation" I took from this blog. It had nothing to do with the blog, other than the fact that I hadn't worked much -- if any -- on the novel or my thesis for about four weeks! I was preparing for a final, writing the paper for my linguistics course and gearing down for the Christmas break, which is now over.

This is crunch time for my thesis, as the first draft is due in February. I'm sticking with the creative non-fiction and have found some new inspiration for some essays that I will write.

Since I have been working at Missouri State University, I've been captivated by our archives in the Meyer Library. People actually donate documents and memorabilia from their lives that -- if combed through carefully -- tell fascinating stories.

When was the last time you "dug" through your own archives?

The Christmas break allowed me some time to do that. I am so blessed to have a mother that has boxed up most of the things from my childhood, as well as momentos, writings, etc. from high school and college years.

In my old bedroom closet sits a wooden toy box with a treasure trove of Eric memorabilia. Right now, it is only of interest to my mother and me; but, hopefully, my sons will one day enjoy browsing through the items.

This Christmas I was on a quest to prove that I was once a promising artist. I was scouring the Eric archives for a high school sketchbook. After locating it (and realizing that that path probably wasn't as promising as I believed), I also found a manilla envelope. In the envelope was the only hard copy of an essay that I wrote in 1994. I hadn't seen this essay since my senior year in high school, and I was very excited to find it.

The essay chronicled a four-hour visit with Baseball Hall of Fame broadcaster and longtime St. Louis Cardinal announcer Jack Buck -- a St. Louis legend, who is father to now uber-popular Joe Buck.

Over the years -- mostly at parties -- I have called forth my memories from that evening at KMOX radio. But this essay, which was written as part of a class project, filled in so many gaps that I had forgotten.

I intend to use this essay to help me write a portion of my thesis. Finding this work helped me to understand just how important "original" work can be -- especially when the goal is to provide accurate history.

I'm also convinced that EVERY life is interesting and adventurous in one way or another. That's why being a storyteller is so much fun!

Considering a change

I am very disgruntled with my creative nonfiction thesis project -- so disgruntled, in fact, that I'm considering a change. I want to write fiction! But I've taken no fiction writing courses because there haven't been any offered after 5 p.m., when I could take them.

Some challenges I've discovered with creative nonfiction:

1. It's tough to analyze yourself and to then put it down on paper.
2. When people are still living, it's tough to analyze them and put it down on paper -- for me, there is a genuine fear of upsetting someone. Facts are facts, and they should speak for themselves (in theory and within the confines of objective journalism); but...when delving into creative nonfiction, you let your judgements show, and that still seems pretty risky to me.
3. I've got some great nonfiction ideas, but I feel rushed to write those stories based upon a thesis deadline.
4. Right now, I want to write fiction -- plain and simple!

Any thoughts?

Personal Interviews

I have interviewed many interesting people in my life, and by using this tool of communication, I've found that some of the most ordinary people live the most extraordinary lives.

The last couple of years, I've been "interviewing" my grandparents. Unfortunately the conversations are usually so impromptu that I don't have a tape recorder set up, but I've been able to absorb some wonderful historic information. This weekend, my grandmother visited for my son's dedication at church. We sat and talked for hours; she told me stories about herself and others, filling in many gaps about relatives I thought I'd known. And while it was fun to learn about my relatives, I couldn't stop thinking plotlines and characters. I know they'll show up in my writing.

My grandmother was born in the Old Mines area of Missouri, just north of Potosi. The area was mined first for lead; and when that ran out, they began digging for tiff. There's an amazing French culture that is literally dying out.

For those who are writing any health-related, suspense or (dare I say -- horror) fiction, my grandma told me the story of her grandmother's funeral. This would have been in the early 1930s. Apparently, my great-great grandmother died of dropsy -- we know it as edema -- when your organs swell with fluid. Before she died, she told her husband to wait three days until she was buried. He abided by her wishes, but those three days proved to be a bad idea. You see, my grandmother's body continued to swell with fluid. During the funeral procession, the casket was put in the back of a horse-drawn wagon. Much to everyone's dismay, the body was so bloated that it DRIPPED fluid from the house to the graveyard. Yuck.

Anyway, here's the reason my great great grandmother wanted to wait three days to be buried. Back then, when people fell into a coma, people thought they were dead because the diagnoses were so innacurate. So....the rumors were that many people were buried alive.

There were other stories, but that's the one that was most vivid. My grandmother is a great storyteller -- and I'm thankful that she's taking the time to tell me and she's also writing these things down for me.

Feel free to share your personal interview stories.

Tips for creative nonfiction

On a tip from my friend Angela (Wicked Wordsmith), I browsed the "Velda Brotherton" section of her Web site. Velda is an Ozarks writer with several novels and works of creative nonfiction under her belt.

As you know, I'm working on a series of creative nonfiction pieces for my thesis. I found Velda's posts -- including those on character development and historic research -- very encouraging and I've made note of several tools and tips.

See Velda's Wicked Wordsmith posts here.

Velda's professional site is located here.

Mississippi Solo

Have any of you read the book Mississippi Solo?

If you have not, you're missing out. In this work of nonfiction, Eddy L. Harris -- who lived a portion of his life in St. Louis -- recounts his solo trip (in a canoe) from the head waters of the Mississippi down to Louisiana.

This is an amazing story -- quite scary at times, especially when the author is paddling his little canoe through the locks and dams and dodging the wakes of massive barges (and dodging the barges themselves).

I was intrigued by this journey because I grew up in St. Louis within a mile of the Mighty Mississippi. I didn't spend a lot of time on the River, but I've been down to its banks enough to feel its overwhelming power. When people say they want to go boating on the Mississippi, I reply with "Good luck!"

When I was a teenager, a buddy of mine and I planned to do some night fishing on the river. The spot we'd had picked out was, of course, on private land, and we were not invited. But we were determined to drop a line in anyway. Well, before I left the house (wearing old jeans, an old ratty sweatshirt and toting a much-too-small fishing pole for the Mississippi) I made the mistake of telling my mother where we were going fishing.

I don't think she believed me. Certainly, two teenaged boys were up to no good if they were heading to the river at night. She was certain that we had something else up our sleeve, so she replied with an emphatic "Nuh-uh. You're not going fishing."

I pleaded my case, but she stood her ground. She said "If you ARE going fishing, you're NOT going there. What would happen if you were sucked in? At night, when no one could see you? Forget about it."

When I was that age, I would often try to argue to get my way. But that night, there was a seriousness in my mom's tone -- something I didn't want to question. And I've never questioned it since. For the past 15 years, I've wondered what would've/could've happened that night -- two kids trying to balance on slippery rocks and battle the rip-roaring currents of one of nature's powerhouses. I'm glad I didn't go.

That's why I was fascinated by Eddy's book. He challenged the River and he won. But it wasn't for a lack of respect -- respect he learned to afford the River and respect he gained for himself.

Great book. Good writing.

Eddy followed up this book with a handful of others, including Native Stranger, Still Life in Harlem, and South of Haunted Dreams.

Creative Nonfiction

My master's thesis is (in plan and theory) a collection of short creative nonfiction pieces. I thought this project would be a natural extension of my journalism career. After all, in only five short years, I'd seen amazing things. I'd interviewed fascinating people. I'd had the chance to report on everything from murders and drug raids to county fairs, the Iraq War and local politics. And I'd experienced nearly every emotion. With that background and all of that flavor, it should be easy to write creatively about such things. Right?

Not so fast. I'm finding it to be a very tedious task. For months, I haven't been able to understand why my nonfiction work is sub-par. But I've had a recent revelation, and I'm going to share it here.

As a journalist, I was trained to collect the facts and report the story. At no point during the process was I allowed to interject my personal feelings or views into the story. Now, I have to write about me. How did I feel when I conducted the interview? What was I thinking when I interviewed that man convicted of killing a child? What a change! And what a challenge.

When writing fiction, authors can assume any identity. Yes, writers do interject themselves into their characters. But in the end, the character is a composite of many. With creative nonfiction, the main character is the author. And I guess I'm still uncomfortable with revealing my true self to the world (or, in this case, my professor).

And it's tough to share my true thoughts about people. For instance, when I analyze a family member in a piece, I mention everything I love about him. But I also announce to the readers my criticisms of him. But what if he reads this? Would he be offended? So I water it down -- just in case. It's kind of like opening your diary for the world to see. You reveal your vulnerabilities, your prejudices, even your language.

I'm just having a hard time doing that. I guess I'm too cautious. Anyone else have this problem?

RECOMMENDATION: A very good book of creative nonfiction is The Beholder's Eye: A Collection of America's Finest Personal Journalism, edited by Walt Harrington.