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a novel is the first thing that occurs to
me. But not—not always—the last. I’ve learned
that the devices of fiction—the moods, the riffs, the
scenes and the characters—can be put at the service of a
story, richly peopled, well-located. And it has to involve a
discovery, which the narrator—usually, the author—shares
with the reader. And last, the author has to be willing to live
and breathe the subject for years without losing his or her
early enthusiasm for it.
In some ways, writing
fiction and writing non-fiction are indistinguishable: author
sits at typewriter, filling up page after page. From a
distance, who can tell the difference? In other ways, fiction
and non-fiction vary greatly. In fiction , all things are
possible, anything goes, if you can make it work. Every page is
blank. In non-fiction, it’s as if the pages are black: an
impacted mass of real people and places, things that happened.
The writing is about choice, selection, arrangement.
You’re dealing with live ammunition: that makes it
tricky, deciding what goes in the lines you write and what goes
between them. As careful as you may be, you can be sure that
someone will not like your book. Guaranteed. And someone will
suggest that they could have done better. And your response
should be to invite them to proceed, to promise to read their
work—if published—and to show them at least as much
generosity and class as they have shown you.
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Copyright © 2005 P.F. Kluge.
All rights reserved.
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