• Forest for the Trees
  • THE FOREST FOR THE TREES is about writing, publishing and what makes writers tick. This blog is dedicated to the self loathing that afflicts most writers. A community of like-minded malcontents gather here. I post less frequently now, but hopefully with as much vitriol. Please join in! Gluttons for punishment can scroll through the archives.

    If I’ve learned one thing about writers, it’s this: we really are all alone. Thanks for reading. Love, Betsy

Jesus Died For Somebody’s Sins But Not Mine

A writer, we’ll call her Joan, thinks she should wait until her parents are dead to write her memoir. What do I think about that? Well, Joan, you haven’t told me what’s at stake. For instance, an Astor-sized inheritance might be worth putting the prose on hold. I don’t know. It’s a tough question.

I do believe that writers are the designated hitters in their families. The whistle blowers. Or as I refer to them in my (ahem) book, The Wicked Children. Not all writers are damaged by or isolated from their families, I just don’t know any. Most great art, whether created with a knife or a scalpel, an electric or acoustic guitar, is a savage act. And most great artists are savages. I think this is what I most admire in them.

When I was nineteen, I met a ninety year old woman called Ninette T. Loos Blanc. There is much to say about Ninette, but for now I’ll just say that she was a hero, and the words she lived by: Loyalty to the family is tyranny to the self.

4 Responses

  1. This article by Marion Winik in the LA Times touches upon the same issues. She says:

    “The act of writing about another person occurs not just in the world of literature but in real life. It cannot help but change your relationship, and this should be the first thing you think about.”

    It seems you disagree – as do I – but I do think that bearing in mind that memoir can (and most likely will) have real world consequences can actually help the writing. It means you are less likely to make sloppy mistakes, or to characterize other people in a way that is convenient (and so less true, less powerful). My favorite essay on this topic is called “Violation” and it’s by Sally Tisdale, published in Tin House, summer 2001. It’s not available online, but here’s a quote:

    “Writing about myself, I betray my past and everyone in it; I am betrayed in turn by the limit of my memory, my small, human needs.”

  2. I agree with you, Betsy. I’ve written a memoir about my addiction, but before I did, I let my family know exactly what I was doing. This way, everything is out in the open so there will be no surprises when (if) WHEN it’s finally published. Thank you for this post.

  3. Maybe I’m a writer anomaly, but I don’t see myself as either damaged or isolated from my family. Could be that my entire bloodline is damaged though, and so it’s a relative term among a family of whackjobs…

  4. Another fabulous piece of writing, signed, a fellow savage.

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