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Who you aren't
Feb. 28th, 2006 09:58 amQuote of the day:
"To ask an author who hopes to be a serious writer if his work is autobiographical is like asking a spider where he buys his thread."
—Robertson Davies
I'm not sure I would agree with that, any more than I would agree with the cliché that you have to suffer to produce great art. Certainly autobiography, neuroses, and difficult lives have been components of the artistic experience, but I don't think they're necessarily the only things that produce good art. I think the need to produce art comes from a vacuum somewhere, though. Whether it's a painful past; a dissatisfaction with the way the world is and wanting to make it better; a feeling of being lost in a crowd and wanting something that is uniquely yours—there are many entrances into that Void Which Needs to be Filled.
Writing talk of the day:
I've just realized the old novel I recently took a look at, Brother Wolf, is basically the plot of the documentary film, Unknown White Male, but with SF and thriller elements thrown in.
My novel was inspired by an interview with a woman who was in a terrible accident and lost her entire memory. Fascinated, I started researching memory and amnesia.
Complete and permanent amnesia is very rare—most get partial amnesia and gradually recover their memories, or most of their memories. It's not at all like it's usually portrayed in fictional movies. But what happened to this woman, and apparently what happened to the true life man portrayed in Unknown White Male, is that once the memories are completely gone, a whole new personality emerges, as if what makes us distinctly who we are is the thirty percent or so of our personality matrix that is due to experience (i.e., that isn't genetics and/or "womb experience").
One striking incident, a great telling detail, I remember about the woman I saw interviewed, was when she related how odd everything in her home seemed to her when she finally returned to it. She looked in her closet and thought, "God, what awful clothes. They're hideous." She got rid of everything and started building a new wardrobe to go with her emerging new taste. She worked outward from there, changing everything in her house, and everything in her life. Some of the relationships she'd had before the accident survived this process, some did not. But she said she couldn't help that. She couldn't be the person she used to be anymore because that person and her tastes and attitudes were a complete stranger to her.
People who have seen Unknown White Male report a similar arc for the man portrayed in the film. One critic said the new Doug seems happier and more comfortable in his skin than the old Doug. He's starting fresh and he has a chance to build a life all over from scratch.
The other way to look at that, I suppose, is that he lost himself and may never get that self back.
I'd be hard-pressed to say what is better and what is worse.
"To ask an author who hopes to be a serious writer if his work is autobiographical is like asking a spider where he buys his thread."
—Robertson Davies
I'm not sure I would agree with that, any more than I would agree with the cliché that you have to suffer to produce great art. Certainly autobiography, neuroses, and difficult lives have been components of the artistic experience, but I don't think they're necessarily the only things that produce good art. I think the need to produce art comes from a vacuum somewhere, though. Whether it's a painful past; a dissatisfaction with the way the world is and wanting to make it better; a feeling of being lost in a crowd and wanting something that is uniquely yours—there are many entrances into that Void Which Needs to be Filled.
Writing talk of the day:
I've just realized the old novel I recently took a look at, Brother Wolf, is basically the plot of the documentary film, Unknown White Male, but with SF and thriller elements thrown in.
My novel was inspired by an interview with a woman who was in a terrible accident and lost her entire memory. Fascinated, I started researching memory and amnesia.
Complete and permanent amnesia is very rare—most get partial amnesia and gradually recover their memories, or most of their memories. It's not at all like it's usually portrayed in fictional movies. But what happened to this woman, and apparently what happened to the true life man portrayed in Unknown White Male, is that once the memories are completely gone, a whole new personality emerges, as if what makes us distinctly who we are is the thirty percent or so of our personality matrix that is due to experience (i.e., that isn't genetics and/or "womb experience").
One striking incident, a great telling detail, I remember about the woman I saw interviewed, was when she related how odd everything in her home seemed to her when she finally returned to it. She looked in her closet and thought, "God, what awful clothes. They're hideous." She got rid of everything and started building a new wardrobe to go with her emerging new taste. She worked outward from there, changing everything in her house, and everything in her life. Some of the relationships she'd had before the accident survived this process, some did not. But she said she couldn't help that. She couldn't be the person she used to be anymore because that person and her tastes and attitudes were a complete stranger to her.
People who have seen Unknown White Male report a similar arc for the man portrayed in the film. One critic said the new Doug seems happier and more comfortable in his skin than the old Doug. He's starting fresh and he has a chance to build a life all over from scratch.
The other way to look at that, I suppose, is that he lost himself and may never get that self back.
I'd be hard-pressed to say what is better and what is worse.