…a dearth of experience…
I have a knot in my stomach. I’ve just been to conversationalreading.com, after Googling one of my favorite authors, Lorrie Moore. I read a conversation entitled, “Lorrie Moore’s Sad Decline.” It might have been months ago that this conversational thread occurred, but it’s new to me, and I have to say, it scares me. Not that people are critical of Moore’s work. Not that they are snarky. Not that they might be right. What scares me is the possibility–maybe inevitability–of an artist’s decline, and the implication of where decline might start.
You see, the most cutting comment in this conversation (in my opinion) was not really aimed at Moore’s writing, but at her life:
I’ve written elsewhere that the early landing of a tenure-track position at the University of Wisconsin has led to a dearth of experience in a life that was uneventful to begin with.
This implies that to write well, or interestingly, one has to lead an interesting life. Or at least, it might help. This more than implies that a professorship cuts off life’s potential. One might infer that any steady job, any career that interferes with writing time and lacks creative spark might sap away a young writer’s potential.
To put it bluntly, this scares the crap out of me. Which is not to say I’ve led an uninteresting life. I’ve been to twelve countries, not including the US. I’ve worked a wide variety of jobs, from a theme park to a pharmacy to a catering kitchen. I’ve lived in the woods, in the suburbs, and in the city. I feel I’ve done fairly well with the time I’ve had so far, experiencing life–but then there’s the future. What if I run out of things to write about? What if I bleed my experiences dry?
After all, most of us will have to get day jobs, whether they’re in the literary world or not. Some of us will probably use our MFAs to become administrative assistants or baristas. A good number of us will teach. Some will be editors or proofreaders or write copy for catalogs. How will that factor in our artistic development?
I’ve always thought that an interesting life was a key factor in the creation of art. But I’ve also heard it told the other way. Not too long ago, author Molly Giles came to Eastern Washington University as a visiting writer, and I had the pleasure of attending a workshop with her. She said that writers should have boring lives but interesting friends. An interesting idea, especially for those of us who might not have many opportunities for “interesting lives” once we enter the workforce. I wish now that I had asked her to expand.
How much does life experience factor? Can we bolster our writing with other people’s stories? Can we learn enough about life from a podium or a desk chair?
I comfort myself with examples like Emily Dickinson. Sure, she didn’t publish, so she never had to listen to critics who might impugn her hermitish ways.
If Moore’s new book isn’t very good, that’s one thing; why it may not be very good could be because of a variety of reasons, and I don’t think it is fair to say that it is because she has a full-time teaching job, or because she isn’t experiencing “interesting” things. Life is interesting, and you don’t have to experience meth to write about it. (See my story in the new lit journal Camera Obscura. I never touched the stuff.) That’s the marvelous thing about being a fiction writer: We can tap into any world we want. You just need a heart, a mind, and the burning desire. Research can fill in the gaps. Fiction writers are all kinds, not just one. Don’t worry, Laura. You’ll be fine, even if you spend the rest of your days living across from a strip mall.
Lorrie Moore has been such an inspiration for me through the years. I was surprised by the way she described her novel _A Gate at the Stairs_ when I saw her speak in Denver last fall. She explained that the pacing was off and I remember wondering why she didn’t fix the pacing if she was aware of the problem. I think she is perhaps suffering from a combination of taking herself too seriously (which can make getting writing done difficult–she was writing that novel for ten years, I believe) and of taking herself too seriously (which can make it possible to think you are above making tedious revisions).
Like you, Laura, I’ve lived a varied life. I actually have worried that too much action and experience has gotten in the way of sitting down to write. Now I’m trying to stay still for a while and focus my energy on writing instead of experiencing every thing imaginable. Today my job is to write the rough draft of a story for my writing group. I am completely uninspired. I don’t think I can blame my calm, professional life, though. Any ideas for inspiration?
Ultimately, Moore’s lack of work and revision might just be about time. In an interview in Narrative (you can listen to it), she had said she doesn’t know how anyone with a full-time job and a child to raise can find the time to write (this is her predicament). Boy, do I understand that. That’s why short stories seem so much more manageable. The novel seems insurmountable at times when family members and other responsibilities need your every waking minute.
Someone, I don’t remember who, said something to the effect of this: live a boring life so you can have a vivid imagination. Meaning, I guess, that a quiet life gives you the time to think, imagine, and create your fictive world.
Making the time to write is a challenge: it’s a challenge when you’re a student, a parent, a teacher, or whatever title a writer might have. Maybe it’s as simple as Lorrie’s book (which I haven’t read and have no opinion on) just isn’t that good. Everyone has a clunker or two in the writing life.
That was Flaubert who said that. Well, not exactly that, but you got the gist of it.
Process is different for everyone, and what impedes one writer can electrify another.