The Mechanics of Writing: Autobiography or Fiction?

In every author's fiction, eventually one asks the question: how much of this is "true" and how much is "made up?"

Stephen King, for example, sets the majority of his books in small-town Maine, where he grew up and has lived most of his life.  When he set "The Shining" in a Colorado resort hotel, he was living in Colorado at the time.  Many of his protagonists (Stuttering Bill from "It," Paul Sheldon from "Misery," Michael Noonan from "Bag of Bones," as well as the lead characters in "Salem's Lot," "The Shining," and "The Body," to name a few) are writers.  It would be foolish to assume that there was not at least an element of autobiography present in his works.

John Irving's characters almost always attend an exclusive New England private school, as he did.  Sometimes the actual school, Exeter, is used, sometimes not.  Irving himself has said this is autobiographical; he writes the school experience for his characters that he is familiar with.

Jane Austen was inspired to write "Pride and Prejudice" after her own unlucky foray into the world of matrimony.  Jane had a Charles Bingley in her own life, whose family objected to his wedding a girl of no important family and no dowry, but there was no Mr. Darcy to set things right.  In "Pride and Prejudice," one can imagine that Elizabeth Bennet is, perhaps, the girl Jane Austen wanted to be, and Mr. Darcy the man she wished her would-be husband had been.  (Interestingly, her own family contained a Lydia-like scandal; her brother ran off and lived with a married woman much older than himself.)

I imagine in any work of fiction, there are autobiographical traits one can find if that is what one wants to do.  As a writer, the question I am always trying to answer is, "Am I writing what is truly happening for the character, or what I want to happen?"  In other words, authors who use fiction as wish-fulfillment had better do a very good job (as Jane Austen did) to avoid their stories becoming trite bits of fluff.

I recently completed (maybe) a short novel (about 50,000 words) that I'm terribly afraid will come off as wish-fulfillment.  It's about a 35-year-old woman (professional singer) who has an emotional affair with a 24-year-old man (scruffy yet attractive composer).  Conflict and murder ensue.  I have absolutely no real desire for any man, of any age, other than my husband, but you can see my dilemma.  If, perchance, someone was to read this book, I don't ever want them walking away from it saying, "Wow, that lady really wants to have an affair with a 24-year-old man."

I think I have a good imagination.  I can imagine what it would feel like, for example, to be beaten up, although it's never happened to me.  I can imagine what it would be like to have abusive parents (as my main character in my first novel did) even though I didn't.  I could imagine what it felt like to be a vampire, even though, to my knowledge, I don't subsist on the blood of my enemies.  Still, in this age of complete personal transparency, the first assumption about fiction seems to be that it must be rooted, somehow, in fact.  It's a hard call to make, sometimes, when I'm trying to figure out what a character is doing next.  Sometimes, the best thing to do is to say, "What would I do in this situation?"

Then, make sure the character does anything but that!

I Don't Make the Rules

I don't know who decided it, but it's a rule: farts are funny.

Instance one:  In a second-grade music class, the teacher says, "Now we're going to look at the instruments.  Everyone needs to be absolutely quiet and listen or you might not get to play today."  As the teacher begins to move, a little girl about the size of a thimble (but cuter) lets one rip that, had it emerged from a 200-pound teamster, would have been heroic.  Coming from that tiny thing, it was almost miraculous.  Torn between shock and awe, the teacher froze as the class erupted in laughter.  Worse, the teacher, who is, after all, only human, could not help but laugh.  Order was restored eventually, but it was a delicate balance: one small puff of air would have sent their fragile house of discipline crashing to the ground.

Why are these completely natural bodily emissions funny?  And why are they funny to EVERYONE?  I don't mean every person, but I have yet to meet one "type" of person who consistently does not find farts funny.

Example: Princess was about four months old the first time she deliberately farted against the bottom of the bathtub and giggled.  Precocious?  Gifted?  Genius?  Certainly.

Example 2: The other day, Dexy was in the bath.  He was splashing happily while I got the towels ready and I heard, "Mommy!  Come here!"  I went to the side of the tub where he was standing, a look of intense concentration on his face.  He held out a hand for mine.  As he clasped my hand, he farted.  He laughed, still holding my hand, for about two full minutes, became serious, looked me in the eye, and said, "I poot."  Then he did it again.

I have heard that there are some cultures in which farting is completely commonplace.  No one notices them at all, they are like random coughs.  So obviously, it's our social taboo on the whole subject of digestion and excretion that makes farts (and fart jokes, and poo jokes, and toilet humor in general) funny.  The forbidden is always a good source of comedy.

Of course, it can go too far, and I think we can all agree that when it does, it stops being funny and is just gross.  What we can't agree on is where that line is; to one person, the bathroom scene in "Dumb and Dumber" is completely disgusting and absolutely devoid of any humor at all, whereas another gets the giggles just thinking about it as she types her blog.

Tee hee.

The Worsties

It's awards season time again, and, as I have documented in my blog over the past year, the only bad thing about awards shows is that there aren't enough of 'em for me!  I mean, with only the People's Choice, the Critic's Choice, the Screen Actor's Guild, the Golden Globes, the Independent Spirit Awards, the American Music awards, the Video Music Awards, the Country Music Awards, the Grammy's, the Emmy's, and the Oscars, I am in serious danger of having to make my own decisions regarding what is worth my time and attention.  This, people, is what causes outbreaks of cultural tumors like Jersey Shore.  It is a serious problem.

To combat this plague upon our society, I would like to propose my own award show, along the lines of the People's Choice, but instead of picking the best, we will pick the worst.  Fortunately, 2009 offered us an abundance of things to loathe, so this will be a real challenge.

The nominees for Worst Musical Trend are:

1. Dollar signs in one's name instead of "s"
2. Having Kanye guest on your album
3. Singing a duet with a legend, which only highlights one's own shortcomings

Winner: 

The nominees for Worst Television Show are:

1. Jersey Shore
2. The Real Housewives of New Jersey
3. The Real Housewives of the O.C.
4. The Real Housewives of Atlanta

Winner:  All of us.

The nominees for Worst Human Being are:

1. Carrie Prejean
2. Donald Trump
3. Perez Hilton
4. The Kardashians
5. Jon Gosselin
6. Kate Gosselin
7. Tiger Woods

Winner: 

As a result of a last-minute write in campaign

The nominees for Worst Corporate Mistake are:

[Nominations closed, this was a no-brainer.]

The nominees for Worst Award Show are:

Pending.

The nominees for Worst Way to End This Entry are:

1. My face-in-a-hole picture of me with Rob Pattinson
2. A retelling of the time Momz was entertaining us at the mall with straws in her nose, then realized that she was in public and several people were openly staring at her.
3. A lengthy description of Princess' latest escapades, in which I make it clear that she is the most gifted child in the world ever.
4. At least until I get to Dexy, who is clearly equally gifted, as evidenced by his ability to appreciate the humor in flatulence, both his own and others'.

Winner:

(Please feel free to leave me your suggestions for other categories and nominees!)

Letting Go: An Open Letter

Dear Project Runway,

I'm sorry to tell you in a letter, but things have to end between us.

You've changed.  At first, when you were gone for so long, I thought I could accept you on any terms, so desperate was I for you.

Now I know better.

Though we were together for five years.  I don't take that lightly.  But a relationship works two ways!  After five years, you move (to Lifetime), you change (from New York to Los Angeles), and you become some vapid, shallow image of your former self, with no thought to how that affects me?

No, I'm sorry.  I thought I could take a break and give you some time, but here you are, back for another season barely two months after the pitiful end to Season 6, and I'm just not ready.

Maybe, one day, we can be together again.  For now, we'll always have Season 2.

Happy Birthday to...

Me.  It is once again my 22nd birthday, one which I never tire of celebrating.  I began celebrating my 22nd birthday on January 29, 1997, and have done so ever since.  (True story: in 1999, my students brought me a cake with 22 candles on it, which they did again in 2000 and 2001.  Those kids.)

Though clearly my birthday is the most important one celebrated today, there are others who are celebrating today as well.  If you look closely, you will see a uniting theme betwixt myself and all of the celebrities who share my day:

1. Adam Lambert

You might think Adam and I share amazing charisma, or a penchant for black nail polish.  True.  More importantly, we share truly magnificent, inexplicable bangs:

2. Oprah Winfrey

Like Oprah, I am a successful woman of color who has made it in a man's world.  Okay, I'm not in a "man's world," since 99% of my co-workers are female.  "Successful" might also be a stretch, seeing as how I routinely go weeks without checking my mail.  I am a woman, though, and "Caucasian" is a color, right?

3. Tom Selleck

Like Mr. Selleck, I have wavered between full commitment to my mustache and just wanting to cut it off and be taken seriously for a change.  Tom, keep fighting.  It's worth it.

4. Jonny Lang, Andrew Keegan, Sara Gilbert, Heather Graham, Greg Louganis, Teresa Teng, Ann Jillian, Katharine Ross, John Forsythe, Victor Mature, W. C. Fields, and assassinated president William McKinley also share this birthday.  Like me, most of them remember the '70's fondly.  Those who don't I'm sure would have enjoyed it.

So there it is, friends, proof of my greatness.  For, as the great W.C. Fields once said, "Madam, you may be drunk, but when you're ugly things go to pot.  Bleah."

Have a good weekend!

Playing the Victim

Today may be the most important day in the history of America.  No, I'm misstating.  Today may be the most important day in the history of humans.

Today, the interview of Jay Leno by Oprah Winfrey will air.

I hope you're watching, because I can't.  I'm working, like a sucker.

I have read some excerpts from the interview, and I can tell you, Jay is playing this all wrong.  He's trying to make himself sympathetic by making himself the victim of evil NBC.

No, Jay!  People already dislike you!  Don't get up there and say, "Oh, it wasn't me, I just work here."

Playing the victim can be effective, if done properly. 

Firstly, it helps if one has been a genuine victim.  It doesn't matter what you've been a victim of, whether it is something someone did to you, something society did to you, or even something you did to yourself, in the right circumstances.  Strike one against Jay: no one really "did" anything to him, except NBC, who just keeps hiring him and paying him enormous amounts of money, darn it!  It is hard to feel sorry for someone who, like Mr. Leno, makes so much money at his side job that he banks his multimillion dollar salary in its entirety and thus has no need to work ever, ever again.

Secondly, when playing the victim, one must bear in mind that people don't like people who play the victim.  So one must carefully let others know of one's victim status without coming out and saying, "Hey, you need to feel sorry for ME, because my boss doesn't like brown hair!"  However, one shouldn't overcompensate and become the martyr, employing the trademarked Trembling Sigh and repeating, "No, no...I'll get through it."  Strike two against Jay: he laments NBC "firing" him twice, but has no real answer to the question, "So why are you working for them, again?"

Thirdly, one must be careful, when referring to fellow victims, to not "one-up" those in a similar situation.  As in, "Yes, I know you have exczema in your nostrils, but my big toenail just won't grow right!"  In a similar vein, avoid accusing other victim-players of faking when you are trying to get sympathy.  Jay really bungled this with the "I'm sorry, but..." line of thinking.  Jay's logic is this:

1. I love Conan, and feel terrible for all of this.
2. Not that it was my fault.
3. And if his show had been any good at all, they wouldn't have given it back to me.
4. And he chose to leave.
5. But I feel terrible for him.

Most of us can see through this line of reasoning, because you hear it all the time.  I know I do: "Oh, there goes Myrtle, bless her heart, she's such a strong soul for putting up with that cat.  Of course, you know she feeds that cat Necco Wafers, that's why he smells like that.  And she won't buy those special cat roller skates, even though it's two front feet go in opposite directions.  Oh, but I feel for her, bless her heart."  You know what I mean.

So, Jay, if you're going to get yourself out of this, here's my advice:


There.  That's it.  Nothing.  There isn't a way out.  I think Jay will just have to be hated for a while.  He's proved he's resilient, though...I don't count him out.

Bless his heart.

In Which Deb Plays Armchair Psychologist to Hollywood

It was revealed this week, by undoubtedly intrepid reporters risking serious paper cuts, that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have not been photographed together since the first week of January.

Clearly, this means they have split up.  Any couple who does not pose for a photograph together every day must no longer be together, right?

(Poor Sven.  Even if paparazzi were stalking us, we would almost never be photographed together.  We leave at different times of the morning, we get home different times of night.  If he's going out, I'm staying home, and vice versa.  I need to tell him we must get in front of a camera, stat, if we want to save this relationship.)

But enough about me.  Speculation in the media is that Brad, who has been cast as THE GOOD GUY in the breakup, is insisting that Angelina get psychiatric help, or else he's leaving.  She has made public statements that fidelity is not "necessary" to a good relationship, and that she and Brad don't "restrict" each other.  He has "reportedly" purchased a home in Los Angeles in preparation for his return to single life.  They (also "reportedly") visited a lawyer to hammer out custody and financial arrangements in the event they do split up.

Though this speculation has been rampant for over a week, there has been no comment from either Brad or Angelina, though "a source close to the couple" said, "They're fine."

I neither know, or really care, whether or not this is true.  It has, however, along with the music history lessons I am giving to my fifth-graders, gotten me thinking about the messed-up lives of so many artists and entertainers.

I make my living in the arts, if you count "music teacher" as "in the arts."  Wether you teach, produce, or perform for a living, most of us do it because we have to.  We simply can't live without it.  Some, like my dad, have a "day job" and devote spare time (ha!) to their passion.  We call these people "sensible," or "practical," or "strong."  Others, however, can't make that compromise: we have to devote our time to what we're passionate about, or be miserable.  I'm lucky: I'm as passionate about teaching as I am about music, which means I can make a decent living still being true to myself.  Others starve or scrimp by waiting tables or flipping burgers.

Others do not compromise, but due to luck become so successful they accumulate material wealth in such a vast quantity it could legitimately be called "obscene."  I know the pursuit of wealth is the American dream and all, but at some point accumulating more money not only seems ridiculous, it seems harmful.

Regardless, there seem (to me) to be two kinds of people who make art their life:

1. People who love it so much that they find their niche.  These people recognize their own strengths and weaknesses and generally stick to what they are good at without excessive concern for the material rewards.

2. People who are trying to escape what they perceive as their own flaws.  They turn to art to fill a void in themselves.  They enjoy the process of "becoming" someone or something else, but, paradoxically, see the attention and/or money they receive as a result of "becoming" someone else validation for their own character.

Turning specifically to acting, I think there are plenty of examples of category 1: those who have been fortunate enough to be successful in their profession, but who seem to be basically healthy, well-adjusted people, or at least people with the same kinds of problems that regular people have.  I mean, so what if George Clooney still hasn't found the right woman?  Nothing wrong with that, he's got plenty of time.  They say 60 is the new 30.

Those who fall in to category 2 are the stuff of legendary tragedy.  Marilyn Monroe springs to mind.  Judy Garland is another.  Unhappy childhoods, battles with depression, self-medicating with alcohol and drugs... E! built the entire "True Hollywood Story" series on these sorts of tales.

The old adage, "You won't be happy with someone else until you are happy with yourself," is true no matter how beautiful, talented, or wealthy you are.  Why do so many Hollywood marriages and relationships fail?  Is it rampant narcissism: the inability to care for someone else as much as one cares for one's self?  Or does it come from low self-esteem, the inability to accept the love of others because one can't love one's self?  The restless, changeable nature of the chronically insecure?

I'm going with all of the above.

OK Go: This Too Shall Pass

Sven showed me this video, and it is adorable. Give it a look! (Click on that sentence to take you to Youtube, they don't want it embedded.  Trust me, it's worth it!)