Musings on Stories

I am working my third time through on a memoir, which is now a novel. But as I keep writing, I wonder if I should return to memoir. Even if I can say less. I feel my voice is stronger as a memoirist than as a fiction writer. And sometimes I wonder if we are just living in the age of the memoir--no longer the novel. Though I love novels.

I just finished Patti Smith's memoir about her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe. It was fascinating for many reasons--a great portrait of NYC in the seventies. (And I should add that I did not come to this book a crazy Patti Smith fan. I had seen her commenting on other people, and was struck by her insights and articulate way of speaking, but really knew her only as muse to a generation of rock n roll guys before my time). But one thing I admired is that she -- at least in the recalling--tried every form of artistic maneuver. She tried drawing, writing, poetry, acting, poetry and rock n roll, rock n roll, playwriting, photography, and I am sure more. But as she did each thing, she was very conscious. She noted what felt good, what felt wooden and off track. Being on stage felt good, acting felt bad. Rock n roll felt good, poetry felt best.

She watched her reactions to others, too. Watching her reaction to Jim Morrison she felt, I could do that. Reacting to others she thought, I don't want to do that.

I am trying to look critically at what feels good to me. And what is hard, but also feels good. And what just doesn't feel good. Interest in watching does not correspond to interest in doing.

Just musings, as I put off rereading my latest submission John Rechy's writing class for the 116th time before printing out. I know it has problems, but I can't figure out exactly what they are. Humbling.

OK, I am stopping now because my son has set up a short wave radio right next to me at top volume.

Do you think he is trying to get my attention?