Tag: Reflections from Ann S. Epstein Writer

Reading a review of concert pianist Jeremy Denk’s memoir Every Good Boy Does Fine: A Love Story in Music Lessons, I wondered how a composer knows what note, chord, or musical phrase on which to end a piece. That led me to ponder how a writer knows just the right the word, phrase, or sentence with which to conclude a narrative. Satisfying musical and literary endings achieve two goals. They resolve what has come before, offering a sense of inevitability that the ending is exactly as it should be. Yet, that final note or word also resonates beyond the work. As a writer, I know when I’ve “landed” the ending. I don’t have a map or GPS to steer me. I simply trust that I’ll eventually get there. See more thoughts about writing at REFLECTIONS.

“If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired” (Anton Chekhov). French feminist filmmaker Céline Sciamma, profiled by Elif Batuman in The New Yorker (February 7, 2022), says that while patriarchy insists “conflict is the natural dynamic of the storyteller,” she moves beyond that dictum. In Sciamma’s movies, situations that would typically elicit an explosive conflict are met with acceptance, even agreeableness. Yet her films sustain dramatic interest. (Disclaimer: I haven’t seen Sciamma’s films, only read about them.) Comments Batuman, “Perhaps Sciamma is on to a secret that nobody else has guessed: you don’t actually have to shoot Chekhov’s gun.” I wondered whether writers could likewise make their characters say “No problem” instead of “No way!” It was akin to inverting Tolstoy’s observation and declaring, “Every happy family is happy in its own way.” As a feminist myself, I applaud Sciamma’s sensibilities, but I can’t imagine eliminating conflict from my narratives. My work rarely features physical violence, but conflict, conveyed through words, gestures, and body language, is key to character development and plot. A gun may not be fired, but someone is bound to shoot off their mouth or fire off a letter. So, my view is that what makes a creative product “nonpatriarchal” is how conflicts are resolved. Read more of my thoughts about writing in REFLECTIONS.

Reviewing Lost in the Valley of Death, a biography of trekker Justin Alexander Shetler, Michael Paterniti considers the inherent contradiction of a solitary seeker compelled to write about his exploits on social media, and asks “the most telling spiritual question: If you don’t post about a profound experience, did it really happen?” (The New York Times Book Review, 02/13/22). I pondered the literary corollary, “If you don’t send your manuscript into the world, are you really a writer?” which is akin to “What’s the difference between a job and a hobby?” I’d say the latter is solely for personal satisfaction whereas the former also entails an external reward — publication, good reviews, reader appreciation, even (least likely) income. I called myself a writer only after I began submitting my work. Were I to stop, would I no longer use that label? Or, once a writer, always a writer? Ditto an artist. “Writer” and “artist” are the jobs I list on my tax returns, whereas “developmental psychologist” disappeared after I retired in 2015. Life has enough unnecessary dichotomies that I hope never to be faced with “hobby versus vocation.” For more thoughts about the literary life, see REFLECTIONS.

“In many ways, writing is the act of saying ‘I,’ of imposing oneself upon other people, of saying listen to me, see it my way, change your mind. It’s an aggressive, even a hostile act . . . setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully” (Joan Didion, “Why I Write,” New York Times Book Review, 12/05/76). Didion’s incisive writing filled me with admiration. Yet her skill at voicing opinions antithetical to mine, most notably in her early pro-conservative years, also aroused my aggravation. Didion’s scathing arguments didn’t win me over, but I resented her for being such a good adversary.

In answer to a question about roles he was disappointed not to get, actor LeVar Burton said “That which is mine, no one can take away from me. That which is not for me, no amount of wishing or stamping my feet will make it so” (“LeVar Burton’s Quest to Succeed Alex Trebek” by David Marchese, The New York Times Magazine, 06/25/21). Writers should keep that wisdom in mind when submissions are declined. The work we’ve published is ours to own. The work that’s turned down may never achieve print. But unlike actors, for whom rejection means losing the opportunity to create that role, writers can always say they created that manuscript, whether or not someone else is inclined to publish it. More thoughts about writing at REFLECTIONS.

“Writing human beings as ‘characters’ is chief among all sins of the memoir writer. Unfortunately, it’s painfully easy to turn people into flat characters in a format so focused around recoloring the past” (Meagan Shelley, “In Search of a Third Dimension: On Characterization in Memoir,” The Writer, August 2021). Fiction writers can fall into the same trap, creating cardboard villains or cloying saints who lack complexity. My favorite challenge as a fiction writer is to make an unsympathetic character interesting — not necessarily likable, but humanized with a range of emotions and behaviors. To do that, I must first empathize with them. Finding that empathy can be harder for the memoir writer whose opinions of a person or event are fixed. Waiting before writing offers a solution. Time and distance allow the memoirist’s perspective to widen and become more flexible. More thoughts about writing at REFLECTIONS .