Dec 21st, 2006
Not Made Up: Part I
Maybe it’s because of the James Frey Era of Fabrication, or because of the blurred lines of infomercials and advertorials these days. I am continually struck by people’s reactions to the fact that the stuff I write about is real, and verifiable to the full extent that anything can be verified.
It’s a weird feeling each time I see this realization click in the mind of someone who, until that moment, I thought already believed me. Take for example, a reporter who was pre-screening me for an official interview. As he asked me questions, I referenced some particular stories I including in my book. He paused and said, “You really wrote this book, didn’t you?”
Up until then, he was just following orders to interview me, working on the assumption that like most “authors” he interviewed, I was a mere puppet behind a marketing machine that included a ghost writer. He was so disillusioned, he said it was rare to find an author who had read “her own” book, let alone written it. Great: the posers indirectly chip away at my cred.
I can’t tell you how many times I have been asked, you mean that [event/story/memory] really happened? Seriously: I have no reason to make this stuff up.
Why does this bother me? First, because I don’t like the idea that some people who are smiling and nodding and “supporting” me actually think I’m full of it. Secondly, I’m annoyed by the notion that if this were fiction, it is the best my imagination could cook up.
If I were going to embellish my stories, I would make it worth my while, and cater to the sure-thing pitch for Oprah and Larry King. I would include several falls from grace, ideally one that involved IV drugs, and involvement in at least one cult. I would include scenes of physical violence, a car crash, and devastating gambling debt. The final chapter, titled simply “Redemption” would cleanse me of all my earthly sins as I finally discover “what really matters.”
But fortunately for me — and unfortunately for a publishing industry obsessed with sensationalism — none of that happened in my life.
Only the stuff I write about really happened.
Brilliant analysis — thank you!