VIRTUE AND VICE OF HISTORICAL FICTION

By Bonnie Stanard

Let's face it. The dead don't own anything, least of all their own story. And even if they wrote thousands of words when alive to describe their own life, it guarantees them no voice in history, at least not to those of us who believe only one truth—our own. But there are those of us who credit those voices from the past with truth, or more precisely, with relative truth (yes, that's an oxymoron, but you get the idea).

Historical fiction is controversial, and I look forward to participating in a panel discussion on the topic at the Aiken Book Fair on Saturday, November 13.

There are basically two camps of writers: (#1) those who do and (#2) those who don't try to stick to the historical record.

What Historical Record?

Writers # 2 jumble events, use purposeful anachronisms, disregard dates and places, and change personalities of historical characters. The Underground Railroad (set in the antebellum South) by Colson Whitehead is a prominent example with numerous historical inaccuracies (forced sterilizations, the 1930s Tuskegee syphilis experiment, a building with an elevator). Whitehead has been quoted as saying he was after "the truth of things, not the facts." Mmmm...whose truth? 

Is the historical record fiction?

One argument we make is to question the veracity of the historical record. Historians, who have studied this question longer that fiction writers, continue to revise the record as more data are discovered. An example is the revisionist view of post-colonial history. In the past, countries that owned colonies were lauded for bringing civilization to primitive cultures. Today the cheering has turned to criticism about the treatment of indigenous peoples. Do revisions suggest the record isn't true or to the contrary, does it indicate a honing toward the truth?

"History is but a fable agreed upon"

This is a quote that is ironically attributable to several sources, most often Napoleon. The point is that the historic record is one that is agreed upon by educated, knowledgeable people. We can argue that the truth depends on who is telling the story (the history of wars is written by the winners), but the stories are vetted by enlightened historians. Our age is one of uncertainty and doubt. Everything goes gray, but should we throw up our hands and say no historic truth exists?

To take a more jaded look

By flinging dirt at famous personalities, we attract an audience, not least of which are publishers and literary critics. We've been making money off of the imaginary weaknesses and/or faults of celebrated characters such as Marilyn Monroe, Einstein, Frank Lloyd Wright, and Frank Sinatra. As Guy Kay wrote in TheGuardian, "These works can be ethically troubling but some are superbly imaginative." 

Free Expression

Does sticking to the historical record suppress free expression? What about the First Amendment? Should our courts decide what we can or can't write about? When our imagination conflicts with what is accepted as historical fact, which is more important? To stick to facts or go with our imagination and forget about the record?

When I'm writing historical fiction, I study documents, books, diaries, etc. about the place and time and use what I learn to write events, characters, manners, whatever pertains to a given scene. As I write, I feel as if I am time-traveling into a different era, and I try for an authentic experience.

The same is true when I read. I want to be entertained, but I want to learn about our past at the same time. Don't give me jumbled history. I want to think of the characters as my predecessors, and even if the history we study is shot-through with questions, it's better than one author's concept of it.

BEYOND REVISION

By Lis Anna-Langston

Sharon May wrote a great piece about revision last month. Revision is more than changing a word here and there was her point, and I agree. Great writing is rewriting. It also made me think about the rewriting after the rewriting. What about the piece that’s been hanging in limbo for months or, worse, the piece that’s been continually declined? Does it warrant a full rewrite? What if it’s even more nuanced? A lot of rewriting is intuition, craft, objectivity.

I had this piece of flash fiction titled: “afternoons. with kerouac.” For six months I sent the piece out. Nothing. Every editor passed. After half a year I pulled it from the submission queue. Taking an objective look, I analyzed every facet. Plot, pacing, tone, characterization. Is there desire, momentum, goal? Yes. Can I tighten the story? Um, no. At 405 words it was the most well-crafted flash fiction I’d ever written. A love letter to Jack, conceived and honed to perfection after a long cold winter listening to On the Road. Something was wrong, and I couldn’t figure out what. That bugged me. Unable to figure out the missing piece, I kept it out of rotation. Days later, I returned to the story. I sat down at my desk and reread it.

“What is this piece really about? What is really going on in this scene?” I asked myself aloud.

I made some quick notes. A girl and Jack and Neil in a small apartment. The narrator liked Jack, but she didn’t love him. I reduced the entire story to three lines, then to two lines, from two to one. Then I distilled the entire piece to a single phrase. Except I was back to zero. The piece really was about afternoons with Kerouac. I must have sat there for half an hour deconstructing every word. Finally, I did what every writer does: I went to get a cup of coffee. Driving down the winding road, the answer came. I drove back to my office and distilled it to one word. Sex. The narrator was having sex with Kerouac, even though it is never mentioned. I changed the title, sex. with kerouac, saved, and submitted the piece to literary journals with open calls. It was accepted for publication nine days later. So, what’s the takeaway? Well, clearly sex sells.

But that’s just snark. Even after all the line edits, plot changes, grammar, and punctuation, revision may extend beyond the rewrite. A simple revision can complete an entire piece and bring the story full circle. Elevating the mechanics of a complete rewrite to a single meaningful change can very often be the difference between a good piece and a great piece. You can make a change, but what you really need at that point is an elegant change. Sometimes that comes long after the original rewrite. Sometimes changing one word changes the entire substance of the piece. One meaningful change can shorten the distance from where you are to where you want to be.

AFRAID TO ASK

By Kasie Whitener

Last spring, I met an agent with whom I had immediate rapport. In our conversation, I mentioned that I was about to start shopping a vampire novel. Since her preferred genre is adult fantasy, she asked me to send it to her.

Ten days later, I got an email saying, “OK I’ve read enough of this to know that I want to read more. I wanted you to know that I’ve gotten through the first 30 pages or so and I would love to read the rest of it.”

The rest of the email went on to explain she was super busy and would need about a month to finish it. I agreed. My initial email had told her the manuscript was still with beta readers and I had a developmental editor on the job.

I didn’t hear from her again and I was afraid to ask her about it. I’ve been rejected before.

Last Tuesday we hosted Amy Collins as part of the SCWA’s Become an Author series. In the reminder email I sent her the week before, I told her the upcoming radio show I host would be talking about vampires (a topic she and I both enjoy).

When we logged in to the Zoom meeting, Amy said, “I’ve got a great vampire manuscript right now I’ll share with you. It’s not published but it’s great.”

Part of me thought she was teasing me. So, I replied, “Is it mine?”

Amy sat, stunned, on the other side of the Zoom. Within a couple of minutes, we worked out that I’d sent her my manuscript via email, she’d forgotten about it, and maybe thought because it wasn’t done, she’d come back to it? Or I would resubmit a more finalized version? Who knows?

In any case, we’d miscommunicated. And I was relieved.

Relieved because she’s the first agent who had been excited about the manuscript. Relieved because I like Amy and want to work with her. Relieved because she hadn’t ghosted me or rejected me. We’d just miscommunicated.

Amy delivered one of the best SCWA Become an Author sessions we’ve had. She was forthright about what an agent does and does not do. She was honest about what annoys agents and what gets them excited. We had more than 80 people show up. One person messaged me that it was the most valuable session they’d ever attended, and they would be joining SCWA right away.

What I learned from Amy was something I think I already knew: following-up is not pestering.

I should I have messaged her, “Hey! You have my vampire novel. What did you think?”

Instead of assuming that she hadn’t liked it at all. Rejection is a bad teacher.

In fact, Amy told our story to the group on Zoom and said, “Kasie and the rest of you should know that if an agent asks for your manuscript, the ghosting part of your relationship is over. Now it’s about follow-up.

Don’t be afraid to ask.

WRITING GENDER

By Sharon May

There must be numerous badly developed characters written by the opposite gender, considering there are lots of posts online of examples and spoofs of them. Both are comical. What I hope are beginning writers ask in writing forums how they can/should write characters of the opposite sex. All mean well, as they only ask so they can avoid stereotyping. But it makes me wonder what they think characterization is all about.

A few weeks ago when discussing this topic, a writer friend told me she liked Steven King’s works, noting the novel Gerald’s Game showed he could “write women well.” We didn’t discuss particulars, but the comment bugged me just a little. Why wouldn’t he? I really expect writers to be able to write any type of character as we are supposed to be observant. Of course, it is difficult to understand the opposite gender if we don’t spend time with them so we can listen and learn. If that’s not possible, we can learn through reading.

I think I write both male and female characters well. I don’t believe it’s because I’m a lesbian, though that does provide interesting opportunities to learn from both genders. I have no secret knowledge of either. Rather, my ability comes from my belief that we are all humans first. In fact, gender is not even the second defining trait of my characters. They are not interchangeable, but I wouldn’t have to change everything about a character to transform one from male to female.

Honestly, men and women worry about the same issues, have the same troubles, and pretty much want the same things. Yes, our languages may be different, and we may view the world differently because of biology and differing cultural expectations. We should be able to recognize gender in a character, especially if the writer understands society’s expectations in a particular time and place and the characters’ responses to them. (Unless of course, we are bending genders in our work.)

Recently, I heard that the actor currently playing James Bond in the soon-to-be-released version believes there should not be a female Bond because (and I paraphrase) “it would water down the character.” Is he really saying Bond would be less if a woman? I would have thought a female would become Bond. I supposed the actor thinks that Lady Bond would be having a shootout with the bad guys and gals, but have stop to take cookies out of the oven. Actually, I might find it more amazing if she carried out Bond’s feats while cooking, cleaning, and rearing children.

Let’s definitely not fall prey to stereotypes when writing characters who differ from us for any reason, not only gender. We should use common sense about character development. The gender may be different, but the writer’s task is the same: explore the character and their purpose for existing in your work, and then let him or her speak their truths.

CAN’T HURRY THAT NOVEL

By El Ochiis

Some novels take time to write. Just as one shouldn’t pan-fry brisket, sometimes one can’t hurry a novel that needs to be slow-cooked. Karl Marlantes, a Yale graduate and Rhodes Scholar, slow-cooked his powerful novel, Matterhorn, for 33 years. Published in 2009, it was set during the Vietnam war – he was also a decorated soldier of that war.

I mention this because, lately, I’ve been dreading the days on the calendar due to a hopeful decision, well, promise, to complete a piece that I had been working on before the end of 2021. That deadline will not be met. There is a professional colleague, editor/coach, who will ring me up and make me feel even more guilty than I already am by admonishing me in the manner one does with a two-year old:

“Turn off the internet, make a writing schedule, stay inside for a month and just work on your piece, meditate procrastination away, work less hours,” she will cajole, as if I had not tried all of the suggestions she has texted, emailed and left so many messages, my voice mail on both phones are full.

But, the one criticism that she uses to break my soul is:

“Not getting any younger, time, there is no time,” she warns, in her seventh voice message.

Ouch, that one so hurts my feeling, not because I have any deep-rooted issues with getting older, rather because I haven’t been able to commission some entity, Julius Caesar, maybe, that I need more hours added to the day, more days added to the week, more weeks added to the month and, finally, more months added to the year – Caesar’s solar year was already miscalculated by eleven minutes:

Listen to me, miss ‘Negative Nancy’, Harriet Doerr was 74 when her debut novel, Stones for Ibarra, was published; It went on to win the National Book Award. Eudora Welty was 75 when One Writer’s Beginnings was published; Edith Wharton, 75, when The Buccaneers was published (after her death), still counts; Herman Wouk, at 100 years old, published: Sailor and Fiddler: Reflections of a 100-Year-Old Author. – And, he was still alive past April 2019.” I will rattle off, in my head, too ashamed to pick up the phone and confront the deadline demon.

Did I forget Stan Lee, creator of Marvel Comics, who died in 2018 at the age of 95, he kept going till the very end. Margaret Atwood redefined herself and her work in her mid-70’s when The Handmaid’s Tale, published in 1985, reached the small but powerful screen in 2017.

May Sarton—who wrote dozens of books, including poetry, fiction, children’s books and nonfiction into her early 80’s—quotes Humphry Trevelyan on Goethe: “It seems that two qualities are necessary if a great artist is to remain creative to the end of a long life: he must on the one hand retain an abnormally keen awareness of life, he must never grow complacent...”

I’ll just keep writing, and, moving up that deadline, because, you see, it’s my humble opinion that writers and artists tend to go until they can’t go on any longer – brisket anyone?