I have been on a delicious retreat from reality for the past several days. In a place where the desert gives way to snowy mountains. Where the landscape is so severe and so lovely, that I have a million and one things to say and no single thought is fully formed. I will get there. When I recover from various snowboarding injuries (yes, I was in Mammoth) and have reassembled my writerly brain in a cogent fashion, I will have a million little (and possibly big) things to say. However, in the short meantime, it seems remiss to not at least point out the similarities in one of my recent posts and the brouhaha that is currently burning up blogtime everywhere over someone else's millions of thoughts. Specifically, James Frey's A Million Little Pieces.
I don't want to burn up blog hours myself explaining and dissecting and rearranging what has been better said and better detailed elsewhere (here, here and here -- Wiki even weighs in here) about the recent Smoking Gun article that strongly questions the "truthfulness" of Frey's memoir. Fans are jumping ship. Those inspired by him are calling him a liar. Writers and editors everywhere are freaking out. I will say only this. I posted last November, in Filching From Fiction to Feed My Non, about that strange place fiction writers find themselves in when you pull from reality to create your fiction. Is it any wonder then, that fiction makes its way into your reality? I struggle with this all the time. But, alas, I am a lowly blog writer with fictional aspirations. I am not a wildly successful "memoirist" who has been selected by Oprah's book club (I am convinced she does not read the books she selects...but that is another blog entirely), and has sold millions of copies worldwide -- don't forget film rights -- of my "life story" and painted it as such...as reality, not fiction.
Am I jealous that he has sold millions of copies of a book he wrote? Yes. Do I really, deep down, care if its true or not? No. He is a good writer. Maybe not great, but good. I read his book with interest. Do I think there might be a problem with a publishing industry that requires fiction writers to repurpose their work as memoir so there is a better chance of making money for everyone involved? Yes. Do I think its a sad state of affairs when the reading public will only buy millons of copies of something that is "based on real events" and has no stomach for a proper novel? If I felt comfortable swearing in my blog, this is where I would insert said swearing. ______ yes!!!
What do you think?
