I have been willing to take enormous risks with characters I create in the novels I write. I allow my characters to go places I wouldn’t go, do things I wouldn’t do, say things I wouldn’t say, think things I would never think. This allows me a certain screen, a filter of denial, so that when my characters think or do or say certain things that I have thought, said, or done–but which I haven’t widely acknowledged to my friends and family–I can pretend it’s just the character, not me at all. And in some senses, that is true–none of my characters are me at all, they are just composites of things I have done or imagined, or things people I know have done or imagined. And when I talk to people about it, I can stress the fact that some of those things are imagined, and I can hide behind that fact.
But non-fiction is different, scarier. I feel more vulnerable. Many times, I’ve written blog posts that I never publish. Many times, I’ve written blog posts, posted them, and then, after sweating out a 3 a.m. panic attack, gotten up and revised them, taking out the parts that reveal too much about me.
I’m never worried about the fact that strangers might read those posts. It’s the people I know and love–the people who know and love me–that I have in mind when I revise those posts.
Sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m protecting myself, or protecting them.
Now that I am working on a nonfiction book, I am facing this problem in a real way. How do I create myself as a character within the book? How do I learn to be real, and truthful, and honest, without offending the people I love, without panicking at 3 a.m. every night I write?
I am by nature a very private person. That’s certainly part of it.
But there’s more to it than that. I like to think I generally tell the truth, that I don’t lie about what I think or have done. But it’s true that I often omit things that I know or have experienced, or withhold information and opinions, when I know it won’t sit well with the person I’m talking to. So on occasions I nurture certain illusions or, perhaps, I simply don’t confirm suspicions. I reveal certain things to some people, and certain other things to other people, and keep some things altogether secret. I don’t do this because I don’t trust people. Nor do I see myself as a chameleon. Sometimes I keep my mouth shut out of respect for the other person. What’s the point in saying what I really think if it means we’ll have a huge disagreement, or if I know it will make the other person judge me? So sometimes, it’s out of a desire to protect myself, to protect the things I cherish, knowing that other people won’t cherish my deeply held convictions even if they cherish me. I recognize intuitively that there is a difference between loving me and loving my deeply held convictions; so if I withhold the conviction from scrutiny, it isn’t a desire to withhold myself from that person but to prevent ugliness and tension.
But still…how to manage that in my non-fiction?