On Writing – Ramblings

I read a story the other day about a meeting in 1922 between James Joyce and Marcel Proust — two members of literary royalty and authors of the often-compared classic novels many consider the best of the 20th Century, Ulysses and In Search of Lost Time.

Though the recollections of their only and very historic meeting vary a bit from one witness to another, a general truth emerged. They had nothing to say to each other.

Mr. Proust

It’s not surprising to me.  One of the writers I admire, Truman Capote, never failed to deliver truly elegant prose. I believe I’ve read all of his work, certainly most of it. And while I don’t put myself in that league (nor would anyone else), I wouldn’t have chosen him for a lunch companion any more than he would have chosen his arch enemy Gore Vidal. Unfortunately, having witnessed him in person as well as watched a few interviews on television, I prefer the beauty of his prose to his presence. And given my status in the world, no doubt he would wonder why I was in the same room.

On the other hand, I would have enjoyed a conversation with another of my favorite writers, Paul Bowles, not because he is an author, though.  Here is a bright, observant man who lived half a century in Morocco.  I would have liked to learn more about what he thought about that part of the world and what perspective he could provide on world affairs as Eastern and Western cultures appear to clash.

I suspect Joyce and Proust, unless they shared some passion such as gardening or sausage making, would not spend a lot of time with each other. Would we expect them to share exchanging writing tips?

Mr. Joyce

“Marcel, I think you should use less description and more action verbs.”

“You could be a little more cheerful, Jimmy.”

Many observers were interested in what these contemporaries thought of each other. They are both credited with revolutionizing the novel. Both created at least one interminable book, which few have actually read and a style some critics of the time found unintelligible. What would these two giants discuss? 

Again, I’m not surprised they had nothing, or at least very little, to say to each other.    

For me, writing is a solitary undertaking not a gang-related activity. For better or worse, I have no doubt absorbed lessons in the craft, or the art, by simply reading.  But aside from Elmore Leonard’s funny and elementary advice (Essentially, Don’t write what people don’t want to read.), my contention is one must learn by doing.  Then again, the Parisian moveable feast attendees – Stein, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Baldwin and others – might disagree.

Comments, agreeable or disagreeable (though hopefully civil) are welcome.  Also, if you could sit down with an author – dead or alive — who would it be? And why if you have the time.

Film Pairing — Capote Times Two Or More, The Writing of In Cold Blood

While Breakfast At Tiffany’s may have been the most popular of Truman Capote’s books to make it to film and his most famous book, In Cold Blood solidified his place among America’s greatest writers. The book was considered part of a movement with various names — creative non-fiction, new journalism — that told a “factual” story with the emotion, plotting (and made-up, but in-the spirit-dialogue) to give the story the drama of fiction.  Hunter S. Thompson, Tom Wolfe and Norman Mailer, among others were celebrated practitioners of the style.

Historians disagree about who was the first writer to employ this new style, though most give Capote the nod for his tale of mass murderers headed for the death penalty. Capote was convinced that using his new style In Cold Blood would be his masterpiece and bring him a Pulitzer. In a strange and bitter twist of fate, Capote would be passed over.  However, a few years later, Norman Mailer would a receive the coveted Pulitzer for Executioner’s Song, a book about the death penalty in the case of murderer Gary Gilmore.  Talk about punishment.

The weirdness continued.  Two moviemakers, unbeknownst to each other, embarked on movie bios of Capote.  Both focused their films on just the narrow period in the author’s life that involved the writing of In Cold Blood.

Infamous (2006) was the second of the two to be released and immediately suffered from the well-deserved praise of the first.  It was based on another high-society celebrity writer turned realist, George Plimpton.  Relatively obscure actor Toby Jones (at least in the U.S.) played Capote.  Not only was he nearly Capote’s identical twin and an incredibly fine actor, he was perfect for this version of this time in Capote’s life that paid more attention to the author’s life as club-goer and society maven whose flamboyance made him a foreign invader of a down-to-earth small town in Kansas. Townspeople were flattered and shocked.  Infamous had a star-studded cast:  Sandra Bullock, Lee Pace, Daniel Craig, Gwyneth Paltrow and Sigourney Weaver.  Cast and crew have reason to be proud of this fine movie.

 Not to diminish Infamous, Capote (2005), the film, is nonetheless the more powerful of the two. Phillip Seymour Hoffman, as Truman, is not the dead-on copy that Toby Jones presented.  But this Capote delivers at a more meaningful level. Because of Hoffman and Dan Futterman’s script based on part of Gerald Clarke’s comprehensive biography, we see and understand a tragedy of classic proportions — Love of another versus love of oneself. This is the tragedy of Capote’s life.  I think the film is pretty much a masterpiece.

If you still have time on your hands, you can watch the highly regarded In Cold Blood (1967), the movie, with Robert Blake. To accompany An All-Capote evening, perhaps you would prefer to honor the author by dinking his favorite drink.  Make a pitcher of screwdrivers and put your car keys somewhere you won’t be able to find them.  And be comforted that least you’ll be getting your Vitamin C.

Film pairing, movie reviews, Truman Capote, Infamous, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Toby Jones, Gerald Clarke, Norman Mailer, George Plimpton, Pulitzer Prize

Opinion — To Blog Or Not To Blog

Reading the posts on the blog “Murderati” is almost always provocative (in a good way). And not just the writers’ posts. The comments on those posts are thoughtful, often funny, as well. It’s an active, rather interactive site, and it’s great to witness writers and readers talking to each other in such a highly spirited manner.

I am kindly envious. I haven’t been able to generate the kind of debate and commentary here. And that’s one of the reasons I wanted a blog.

There were a number of other reasons as well. One was that I enjoy writing and there are times when I don’t want to work on the draft of whatever novel I’m working on at the moment. I have other things to say — about writing, publishing, and the city I live in and, perhaps, an occasional rant on politics. As a former magazine and newspaper editor, I miss putting words and pictures together and commenting on current events. But I’d be misrepresenting myself if I didn’t acknowledge that I was encouraged to create a blog by the popular notion (Maybe it was a commandment: Thou shalt create a blog.) that this piece of the “social media” was essential if I wanted to continue to sell books in this all too modern world.

But, somewhere on the blogosphere — and I’m sorry I can’t give proper attribution — someone recently suggested that, for writers, having a blog might be counter productive. The rationale was that while one may like your books, allowing readers to get to know you might not be a smart marketing move. In other words, someone, who might otherwise have read your book, checks out your blog and discovers you are a pompous windbag or possess any of number of less than admirable qualities. That thought was provocative too, but uncomfortably so. I know who I think I am. But do I know who people think I am, especially those who read what I write. My books are one thing. My personal opinions and observations, as they are revealed here, are something else. And I may be something else altogether.

Here is the final verse of Robert Burns’ poem, To A Louse.

O would some Power the gift to give us

To see ourselves as others see us!

It would from many a blunder free us,

And foolish notion:

What airs in dress and gait would leave us, 


And even devotion!

So, now should I write the blog, looking back over my shoulder? Questioning. Does using a poem to make a point make me a pompous ass? Will people think that the person they see on these blog pages somehow relate to the books I write? Should they?

One of the writers I’ve admired over the years is Truman Capote. I think he may have created some of the most elegant English any American ever wrote. I have seen him interviewed many times. I’ve seen him speak in person. (He arrived at the small auditorium drunk and incoherent.) I’ve read a few books about him. If I’d had the chance to have dinner with him, I would have. I’m sure it would have been interesting and educational. I would have been honored. In the end, though, I don’t think he was the kind of guy I’d pal around with. (He would probably feel the same.) I thought he whined a bit too much and only a fool would trust him with a confidence. On the other hand I’ve read all of his books and would read anything they’ve yet to unearth. I would have read his blog had he lived long enough and felt the need to create one.

But the larger point, I think, is that the writer is not the same as the story or the characters he or she creates. The proof is not in the pudding maker but the pudding itself. Was that pompous? Trite? Second-guessing isn’t fun.

At any rate, I’d love to hear from you about whether you think author’s blogs (not mine necessarily, though it is fair game too) actually help sales or hurts the writer. Or if, in fact, it makes a difference. Also, and perhaps even more interesting, what can you tell, if anything, about an author by the books or blogs he or she writes?

CAPTION: Portrait of Truman Capote by Horst P. Horst