Word by Word
October 2007
October 1, 2007
noon
I walked down to the main branch of the library yesterday, to take in Word on the Street. This annual event's name was more literal than usual, as the library is still behind picket lines. I rather stupidly got myself soaking wet in the process, it really was raining, but stayed shiveringly long enough to listen to speakers in one tent talking about writing "creative" nonfiction. I put it in quotes because the term bugs me strangely. If all writing is creative, then is the term redundant? Or does the term excuse the writer from the onerous task of sticking to the truth? (What is truth?)
Okay, so maybe all writing is inherantly creative in some way, but we generally think of creative writing to be fiction or poetry. So we don't say creative fiction or creative poetry, because it goes without saying. We can say dull or bad fiction or poetry, but we still assume the creative aspect. Nonfiction is supposed to be 'true', therefore calling it creative gets confusing. Certainly, I seem a bit confused.
Until you realize that 'truth' can exist in rather a creative manner. My truth on one corner of the street being likely different from the perspective on your corner. That's one part of it. But also, any re-telling of something 'real' as opposed to made-up, draws on narrative forms as well. In telling a story about something, we change it's randomness in order to form/show/establish some meaning. We make up stories to reflect truths about 'real' life, but we also shape stories about that 'real' life in order to understand it too. Make any sense?
Anyway, after I went home and dried off/warmed up, it was back downtown for another Film Fest film. As sometimes happens, the two apparently different activities had a similar theme. (Oh, I know, they're not that different, telling stories on the page or on screen.)
We saw the movie Forbidden Lies. It tells the story of Norma Khouri, who wrote the book Forbidden Love, called Honor Lost in the US/N America, purportedly about the 'honour killing' of her friend in Jordan. The book was apparently a huge bestseller, until it came out that Khouri was a fraud, which certainly distracts from the very real issues of 'honour' killings. The story was big in Australia, which is where this film is from, because that's where Khouri lived when it was published, and had become quite the celebrity. Forbidden Love is supposed to be a true story, but through the movie we start to get all the details about the truth. Or do we? It's a peculiar tale, and as Khouri tells it, the details keep changing, and at the end you think, well, is she for real or not? The inclination is to believe she is a big con, and you can feel the filmmakers belief shifting that way too.
Khouri writes of herself as being Jordanian, and virginal too, but it comes out that she has dual citizenship in Jordan and in the US, and had lived in Chicago, (husband, two kids) leaving because of a fraud case, and some FBI interest in her. Did she or didn't she do anything/have anything happen, as she tells in the movie. She has plausible explanations for each lie that is exposed, but the way they pile higher and deeper certainly hinders our belief. And her publishers were certainly guilty for doing no fact checking; too happy to believe bad things about Muslim culture I guess, though I question whether they shouldn't do the same checking even if it were published as a novel. Good fiction requires plausible lies, after all, perhaps to get at emotional truth. But does emotional truth have any place in a story that is supposed to be telling actual truth.
So, do we believe everything we read, if it says it is 'true'? Do we believe this movie? What is nonfiction? And what happens to the legitimate struggle against 'honour' killings in Jordan, or anywhere else in the Middle East, or Metro Vancouver, for that matter, when the real tragedies that do occur, become buried under the utter fascination about this apparently incorrigible con-artist. Was she in it for the money, or does she truly believe she is bringing world attention on a horrible practice? (Where's the money she's had donated, that she was going to pass on to help the cause?) How does it help our understanding in the West if details about life in Jordan are lied about, to embellish a story, that may or may not reflect on reality at all. It's no better as a novel really (bad fiction) if the premise about the mysterious and backward Middle East is built upon lies that pander to the fear of the other that is rampant (ramped up) here in the West.
It's a very interesting film.
October 23, 2007
10:30 am
I heard from a friend today that I don't blog enough, and so I fired up my files and thought, yoicks, no kidding. What have I been doing?
Well, truth is I've been awol on the writing front. It's in my head, writing, but I've just been trying out a spate of enjoying life, hanging out with a new friend. It started with the Folk Festival, and then led into the Fringe Festival, then the Film Fest, and last week the Writers Festival which is now over. Also, doing some work that results in a cheque, not unneeded these days. And I got out another issue of WordWorks for the FBCW too, or was that last month? It flows together when I don't note things down. Another good reason for being more regular in here, and in my own private journal.
I volunteer for the Writers Festival, mostly as a driver, picking up and returning authors to the airport, or occasional other destinations. It's better than standing in lines for their autographs; when you pick them up, they usually assume you're a person, and the conversations are entirely normal. Some talk about writing. Some about what it's like to shuffle between festivals and booksignings (exhausting, but fun sometimes). Lots of talk about the weather, which was wet and soggy and awful, though only one umbrella fell apart on me. I took one writer to Capers with me, and then dropped her back at the hotel. I think the last people left yesterday (I drove one of them out to the airport, and he wasn't convinced there are any mountains here). I see the sun is shining today. Typical.
I also attended seven events, which is a pretty good number. Some of them were great, some not so. I enjoy the smorgasbord events, because of the sampling. Those who don't move you are gone quickly, and those who do, well, it's possible to follow up. I only picked up one book this year, but that has a great deal to do with the price of hardcovers; the festival is possible because publishers are funding book tours, and so it's the newly released hardcovers a lot of the time.
Writers tend to like our festival because of it's location, though if this was their first time here the weather might have discouraged some. The best event I went to, because of my own peculiar interests, was a small one with four writers talking about how they do what they do. This is endlessly fascinating to me, especially during times when I can't seem to sit myself down to write anything. It'd be okay if I could shake the feeling that I have to. Just go off and live a normal (?) life. But there are all these half-done (half-baked) stories, ideas, poems, floating around in my apartment, and eventually I'll have to do something with them. Anyway, the four writers, plus the moderator, got going, playing off each other, and were both extremely funny and quite to the point. And no, I didn't learn anything particularly new; basically, you write. But one, Michael Winter, did make the suggestion that you use a computer that isn't attached to the Internet. Kind of like the old days, with a typewriter. He used the analogy of a dead dog versus a live dog. The dead dog is your novel, and you have to get some life back into it, but the live dog is a lot more fun. Hmmm, I said to myself. Is it a dead dog?
It won't work for blogging, kind of need that internet connection, but then this kind of writing isn't what I'm talking about. It's the pages that could pile up into a novel that I'm worried about. And will get back to. I will.
But I admit I'm carrying on for a while with other life business. In a couple of weeks (less!) I'm off to Mexico for a month. I've arranged for a friend to stay here and feed my cat. Leading up to the trip the cat decided to get cystitis, so that I would have to dig deeper into my credit to get through the next couple of months. Vets aren't cheap. But all will be glad to know that the cat is again peeing properly. However, she's to stay on a special diet for the month I'm away. It's also not cheap. Ah well. I lost one other cat last month (well, didn't lose him, decided to have him euthanized) but not before I donated another fair portion of my credit limit to the vet. I'm starting to question the keeping a pet concept, but it's too late really. The cat I have is too young to not keep going, and who would toss a cat for cystitis? Simple enough to deal with. And getting medicine into her is getting easier; I've just about healed from the gash on my finger, and have learned how to avoid getting another. The cat is still friendly. She doesn't come as fast if I call her, knows I'm going to put her in a choke hold, but the sound of the catnip container pulls her out from hiding.
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