Category: Writing Life

From time to time writers discuss the veracity or reliability of quotes in books that were co-written or ghost-written, and even those in newspaper and magazine features. Did the subject actually say the words as printed on the page? What are the ethical considerations and boundaries for handling quotes. Academics and historians, in their quest for primary source material, find it shocking that some writers have no problem putting words in the mouths of their subjects. I know writers who will tell you that it is a common practice in the world of journalism. It is not a practice that I endorse, but there may be some murky areas. In light of the ongoing Frey fallout, my experience with the writing and publishing of “Men Women, and Girl Singers” seems timely all over again.

When wearing my journalist’s hat, my allegiance is to the reader. I will put quotation marks only around a subject’s actual words. Yes, I edit out the “ums,” but if they have trouble stringing a sentence together then I’m forced to paraphrase and weave in quotable descriptive clauses whenever possible. However, this is not the stance I took when writing John’s life story. Why? Because journalism and nonfiction are different entities; all journalism may be nonfiction (one hopes), but not all nonfiction meets the requirements of journalism. And ghost-writing is even further removed. If I were to stand in the shoes of a ghost-writer, I think my allegiance would have to be to the subject, using my skills to achieve his or her desired goals, provided those goals did not include an intentional distortion of the truth.

My experience writing John’s story is a little strange, in that I do not feel that it was ghosted in the usual way. Still, in the end, it is perceived to be John’s autobiography. In the early 1980s, after John and I first discussed the idea of a book, it became quickly apparent that he was not comfortable being interviewed, by me or anyone else. He is simply uncomfortable in the spotlight. I did make a few early tapes, getting him to reminisce with friends, but such talks yielded little. As any writer can tell you, lengthy passages of verbatim transcriptions of spoken prose don’t hold up in print.

I did do a lot of interviews with other people, and then the files sat in boxes for several years. By the time I came back to the project, John and I had been together for many years; I not only knew the stories, but I also knew and understood his thoughts and feelings about people and events. I decided to write the book “in John’s voice,” using first person point-of-view as a literary device. John read the manuscript when it was finished, and he requested a handful of changes and corrections. The cover page of the original manuscript read: “Men, Women, and Girl Singers: John Levy’s Life as a Musician Turned Talent Manager” by Devra Hall. It was a biography, not an autobiography.

For better or worse, the publisher accepted the manuscript on the condition that it be marketed as an autobiography. So together we added a one-page Preface in which John endorses the content, but says clearly that the words are not his. I know that this will not stop people from “quoting John,” and that bothers me, but only from an academic standpoint in that he did not actually “say” those words. On the other hand, and it may be ironic, the best compliments I received for this book were from people who really know John well, and say “it sounds just like him.”

As a reader, I prefer to judge each book in light of what I perceive to be the contract proffered by the author(s) — I appreciate prefaces or author’s notes that describe the process and explain what liberties, if any, were taken in creating work. A certain amount of responsibility then rests with the reader, who hopefully will be aided by knowledgeable reviewers and critics.

“The American public is incredibly demanding in the diversity of books it seeks. The big publishers couldn’t possibly fulfill those wishes, so the small presses collectively fuel the industry with their breadth and passion.”

So says George Gibson, president of Walker Books and consultant to the Mellon Foundation and the Lila Wallace-Reader’s Digest Fund, in an article commissioned by the Council of Literary Magazines and Presses. In that same article (“Independent Presses and ‘Little’ Magazines in American Culture”) writer Gayle Feldman also quotes past NEA Director of Literature Cliff Becker:

“it becomes more and more important to American culture that there are these alternatives for literature, that there is a structure to combat the potential short-term myopia of the marketplace.”

Is it myopia or greed that drives the marketplace? My guess is greed-induced myopia.

I hope that the little guys — the alternatives — can stay afloat. I spent all day today working on a grant proposal, looking for some philanthropic funds to support worthy stories. I know I’m being a bit vague, but if and when I have some good news I promise to spill all the details.

I have been silent thus far regarding the Frey flap. You know I abhor liars who perpetrate their untruths upon unsuspecting readers. Frey is not alone in his guilt; I rather suspect that the agent and/or publisher may well have been complicit in this little duplicity as well. (“Did Nan Talese Lie to Oprah?” and “Publishers Say Fact-Checking Is Too Costly”) Plain and simple: today, memoirs sell better than novels. And there is always the convenience of blurred or selective memory, alternate realities where no two people see the same thing the same way, yadda yadda yadda. Convenient, of course, because there is some truth to it. In his autobiography, All The Strange Hours: The Excavation of a Life, Loren Eiseley wrote:

In all the questioning about what makes a writer, and especially perhaps the personal essayist, I have seen little of reference to this fact; namely, that the brain has become a kind of unseen artist’s loft. There are pictures that hang askew, pictures with outlines barely chalked in, pictures torn, pictures, the artist has striven unsuccessfully to erase, pictures that only emerge and glow in a certain light. They have all been teleported, stolen, as it were, out of time. They represent no longer the sequential flow of ordinary memory. They can be pulled about on easels, examined within the mind itself. The act is not one of total recall like that of the professional mnemonist. Rather it is the use of the things extracted from their context in such a way that they have become the unique possession of a single life. The writer sees back to these transports alone, bare, perhaps few in number, but endowed with a symbolic life. He cannot obliterate them. He can only drag them about, magnify or reduce them as his artistic sense dictates, or juxtapose them in order to enhance a pattern. One thing he cannot do. He cannot destroy what will not be destroyed; he cannot determine in advance what will enter his mind.

Okay, but back to Frey — basic facts that one has not forgotten, like the length of one’s stay in a jail cell, or the method by which someone you know committed suicide (it’s hard to confuse a cutting with a hanging), should remain factual…unless you tell us it’s fiction. And no, you can’t hide under the covers of “creative nonfiction” either. The Writer magazine ran a piece titled “The Ethics of Creative Nonfiction” (December 2005) in which they interviewed ethicist Bruce Weinstein, Ph.D. — here’s a snippet of what he had to say:

The term ‘memoir’ should be applied only to works that reflect the truth as best as the author can find it. This is not to suggest, of course, that it is impermissible to change the names of real people for the sake of protecting their identity; this may not only be ethically permissible but obligatory. What should be out of bounds, however, is intentionally leading the reader to believe that something happened that did not (or its converse).

Pardon me, folks, but isn’t this common sense? Common courtesy? Common decency?

Those who know me, and some of you just getting acquainted, have figured out that I wear many hats – some might suggest too many. Be that as it may, I had much to accomplish this weekend and I did what most writers do – procrastinate first, write second.

I should write a handbook for procrastinators – all the things you can do before you do what you have to do, eventually. You can pick up lots of such tips at any writers conference. One of my personal favorites used to be alphabetizing the spice rack (those of you who know that I’m not much of a cook are now clutching your splitting sides). These days I try to confine my procrastinations to activities that I can justify as somehow necessary to completing those other tasks – like cleaning my office so that I can find my notes, find my chair… hell, find my desk. Of course, for me, cleaning means completely re-arranging the furniture, and in my office rearranging furniture means disconnecting, moving and re-connecting lots of computer equipment and peripheral devices.

Soooo, “procrastinating” took up the whole day on Saturday. Today was devoted to my role as Minister of Education for the Jazz Journalists Association, preparing a plan of action for what I hope will evolve into tasks that will be accomplished by a real live committee. Now I think I’ll power-down the computer and spend some time with my husband. I’ll probably start drafting my IAJE/NEA report, longhand, before I drift off to sleep, so I should have something new to post by a reasonable hour tomorrow.