Writing: An Argument
“In some ways, writing a memoir is knocking yourself out with your own fist, if it’s done right.” –Mary Karr
Norman Mailer by Bernard Gotfryd, 1970s
What does it feel like to be a writer? Sometimes it’s the best thing in the world, your vision is clear, and you are amazed by your own brilliance. This is nice but it doesn’t last, and it doesn’t mean people won’t say things that hurt your feelings or make you doubt every choice you have made in your life. Also, you hurt people. You remember things they don’t want to be reminded of and anyway, your version is wrong. They are angry to be part of your story, and they feel wounded while you have tried to find some truth, to trace the origin of important things and to convey how these things affected you. Norman Mailer once told me as we walked down the street after a meeting at the Actor’s Studio that my life as a writer would be terrible. He said it smiling and kindly and in terms of expressing his belief that I had talent, but it was a sobering moment. Briefly, I had felt blessed and filled with optimism but now I understand what he meant, what my father meant, what that guy, possibly Hemingway said about it being like opening a vein. We drink, we kill ourselves, we are bad parents, we cheat on our loved ones, and we lie, boy, do we lie.
Maybe that’s too harsh but our memories tend to be detailed and from a single perspective. This often results in readers feeling wounded or maligned. But think of that dinner party, you are walking away feeling happy and well taken care of while your companion felt ignored and bored.
There is a danger to this singular focus, this lack of a three-hundred and sixty degree perspective on the events of your life. But we sacrifice fairness along with objectivity which invites others to feel righteously indignant about the omitting of their version. I don’t believe there is a solution to this dilemma that takes care of other people’s feelings and opinions. And where does the responsibility for that lie? I learned early that you don’t write to make someone love you, or to punish someone.
How do we discover the truth in what has happened to us? Acceptance is a cornerstone of the program I am part of, yet conflict is what produces drama and drama is necessary to keep a reader involved. All good writing should be persuasive.
—Molly Moynahan