Tag Archives: Janice Gary

The truthiness obsession at AWP

High interest in creative nonfiction swamps small rooms.

Way Out x

Guest Post by Janice Gary

The AWP is always such an exhausting, exhilarating and mind-blowing experience. Home now and coming down from the high, I’m overwhelmed with writing ideas and new ways of thinking about writing and appreciation for my writing colleagues—both those I reconnected with and those I met along the way. We are all each other’s teachers, and nowhere is that more evident for me than at the AWP Conference.

As always, there were too many panels that I couldn’t attend, too many programs and presses and journal booths I missed. FOUR HUGE exhibit halls worth of Bookfair – so many it would three days worth of the conference just visit every booth. This year, I saved my energy and didn’t even try to cover it all. But I did find some great little journals I never knew about, and even bought two: Image: A Journal of Art, Faith and Mystery and So to Speak: a feminist journal of language and art.

Nonfiction was well represented on the panels, although it did seem that many of the topics were redundant. Truth in nonfiction was an especially popular subject. The first (and one of the best) of these panels was Looking for Real Life Humberts: The Unreliable Narrator in Creative Nonfiction. Although I stumbled in late for the 9 am session, I got there in enough time to hear much talk about unreliable narrators in nonfiction. In the end, the general consensus was that if we write in this genre, we need to be as reliably truthful as possible. Surprise!

And here I will make a terrible confession: I cannot find my notes on the panels I attended. I am sitting here in abject horror thinking back to taking the notebook out in the hotel lobby while waiting for my airport shuttle and wondering if I ever put it back in my bag. If it’s gone, I’m left with a personal tragedy comparable to the burning of the library in Alexandria.

But I do have the program, and a quick glance shows the other panels dealing with “truthiness”: Nothing but the Truth: Perspectives on CNF”; Options of “I:” the Post Memoir Memoir (dealing with experimental forms as well as issues of truthfulness);  The Truth of Nonfiction: Bringing Students into the Conversation; Why Genre Matters (addressing conflating, configuring, twisting, embellishing).

Why Genre Matters brought together some of the finest minds in creative nonfiction (including Dinah Lenney, Sven Birkets and Judith Kitchen) for a fascinating discussion on truth and the way it is presented. And there were varying opinions – although all agreed that the heart of the matter is the emotional truth investigated as honestly as possible.

Another confession: I only caught the end of this session. For some reason, I ended up the wrong room and found myself at a session on experimental and short form cnf (which was quite good). But once I realized I wasn’t at the session I wanted to be, I was trapped, huddled in the very back of the room on the floor, knee to hip with other packed nf enthusiasts and not able to move until enough of the floor crowd left to leave a trickle of trail out.

This happened a lot during this conference (not the room confusion, although that happened often enough), but the appalling lack of space for nonfiction panels. Over and over again, nonfiction sessions were placed in rooms way too small for the audience. It seems to me that the AWP planners and proposal judges still can’t wrap their minds around how many writers are engaging in nonfiction.

I think it’s time for the AWP (and the literary community) to move past the truth/not truth obsession (almost every nf panel agreed the heart of the genre is the artful and truthful rendering of the author’s experience) and realize creative nonfiction is on the cutting edge of contemporary literature today. Writers sense the limitless opportunities in nonfiction to write the truth slant by stretching form and structure and tone and voice. This is great part of the appeal of the genre to contemporary writers. It is form well suited to those trying to understand not only from their own lives but of the world around them during a time of great changes.

In the halls, you hear folks asking each other “poetry or prose?” It’s funny, because my question is usually “fiction or nonfiction?” But poetry or prose is good question for those of us in creative nonfiction, because this is exactly where the genre is growing and going, existing in the intersection of possibility, the exciting new worlds of making art from life.

So next year, AWP, bigger rooms for nonfiction. More panels on what we can do with the genre and the process of wrangling the truth on the page and not so much on whether or not we’re telling the truth. Sure, there might be a few bad apples in the barrel, but in general, I think nonfiction writers are acutely aware of what the “non” in nonfiction stands for.

And if anyone finds a black five subject notebook in the downstairs lobby of the Westin, it’s mine.

Gary, Janice, Goucher 04 Grad x

Janice Gary lives and writes in Annapolis, Maryland, on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Her book, Short Leash: A Memoir of Dog Walking and Deliverance, is due out from Michigan State University Press in 2013.


Filed under creative nonfiction, honesty, teaching, education

AWP: Day One

Setting up & already networking at earth’s biggest writers’ confab.

Actually I took this photo—accidentally—in Europe. But it fits my image of AWP.

Actually I took this photo—accidentally—in Europe. But it fits my fond memory of my last AWP: busy & kinda blurry . . . Richard

Guest Post by Janice Gary

I arrived in Boston a day earlier than the start of the conference courtesy of Winter Storm Sandy. With time on my hands, I was able to help Goucher MFA Director Patsy Sims set up her table and get an inside look at the Expo Center. So what happens early? Folks drag their posters and brochures and books into the halls, greet old friends, and the registration madness begins. You also get a sense of absolutely massive an operation this is.

While I sat at the Goucher table waiting for Patsy to come back with a stapler for the already fallen signage, Andrew Keating, the managing editor of Cobalt stopped by and before I knew it, we were discussing the state of publishing, the importance of e-books on print, his experience after publishing his first book, and how great it was to be here.

Although the sessions had yet to begin and most of the Expo Hall was still empty, the conference had begun. For me, discussions like the one Andrew and I had are the heart of what this conference is about: a chance for writers to gather together and talk shop. It’s a rare and wonderful thing.

So on to the main event. So much to choose from. Just flipping through the 322 page program can make you dizzy. My plan: to concentrate on nonfiction panels, allow time to catch up with old friends, make new ones, not get too exhausted or too overwhelmed and to write a little for Narrative about some of the sessions and hear from other Narrative readers attending the conference.

There are some great panels to attend on the REAL Day One: The Unreliable Narrator in Creative Nonfiction, Bending Genre, Thoreau’s Granddaughter’s Women Writing the Wild. And of course, four huge ballrooms worth of expo. Let the games begin.

Janice Gary

Janice Gary lives and writes in Annapolis, Maryland, on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Her book, Short Leash: A Memoir of Dog Walking and Deliverance, is due out from Michigan State University Press in 2013.


Filed under creative nonfiction, MFA, teaching, education

The sum of their parts

Graphic memoirs like Speigelman’s & Bechdel’s merit attention.

Guest Post by Janice Gary

At the beginning of my third semester of a graduate writing program, the professor handed out a reading list that included Art Speigelman’s Maus. It seemed an odd choice for a nonfiction program, even if was autobiographical.

I knew about Maus. In fact, I had avoided reading it for years. The book dealt with the Holocaust, which was so personally painful that I avoided any books or movies on the subject. The thought of seeing as well as hearing the horrors that Jews endured under the Nazis seemed almost too much to bear.

Although given the option to read another book, I ordered Maus anyway. After tearing open the packaging, I was greeted by an illustration of a nattily-dressed mouse regaling his cigarette-smoking (mouse) son with his stories. My resistance melted. I cracked open the pages and fell in.

All through my childhood, my reading life mainly consisted of twin literary loves: nonfiction stories—autobiographies, mostly—and comic books. And here were the best elements of both: a powerful personal narrative and the fanciful renderings of graphic art. I read it cover to cover without stopping.

Even though Maus was considered a graphic novel when it was released in 1991, it actually was part of a long tradition of cartoon personal narrative going back to the underground comics of the 1960’s and 70’s. Artists such as Harvey Pekar (American Splendor), Justin Green (Binky Brown Meets the Holy Virgin Mary) and Aline Kominsky (Twisted Sisters) were just a few of the pioneers who drew from real life for inspiration.

Enter Alison Bechdel, creator of Dykes To Watch Out For, a comic strip comic syndicated in many gay, lesbian and alternative magazines. In 2006, her memoir, Fun Home, A Family Tragicomic was released, followed in 2012, by Are You My Mother? It was this book that finally got my attention. A graphic memoir? No kidding! (I was still under the delusion that all illustrated narratives were graphic “novels.”) When my library hold on the books released the two together, I decided to read them both, one after another.

Fun Home centers on Bechdel’s childhood, especially the relationship with her closeted father and the unraveling history of her own sexual orientation. At times, I was stunned by her honesty, which accompanied by images that left no room for misunderstanding.

Bechdel may think of herself as an artist first, but she is a wonderful writer as well as an accomplished illustrator. I found myself drawn into the narrative, fascinated with the way she wrestled to understand herself as well as her father. But as I continued to read, it began to dawn on me that viewing the details of memoir graphically rendered on the page provided a striking lesson for prose writers.

Take for example, a scene of young Alison walking through New York’s East Village as an eight-year-old. The caption reads: “Roy took us for a walk while Dad went up to the apartment. In the hot August afternoon, the city was reduced, like a long-simmering demiglace, to a fragrance of stunning richness and complexity.”

In the illustration accompanying the words, you see a small girl in the midst of a busy city taking in all the sights and sounds. The addition of tiny arrow boxes draws our eyes to the odorific details: a splash of diesel on the ground, shit under a crouching dog, urine and electricity rising from the subway entrance.

In my own work, I labor to write through the senses and lecture my students incessantly about the importance of sensory details. But I had never seen it as plainly and powerfully rendered as in this one drawing. The entire panel served as a map of concrete detail, an illustrated guide for writers wanting to paint pictures with their prose.

Bechdel does this throughout, stretching us into her world with rich detail, making clear that a narrator’s observations reveal not just physical elements but their inner life as well. You begin to know young Alison as a specific type of kid: a codependent, hyper-vigilant girl who obsessively takes note of everything around her.

There are many layers to Bechdel’s memoirs, especially in Mother, where she includes dream passages, sections of text from the child psychology books, transcribed phone conversations with her mother, scraps of newspaper clippings and journal entries. I became dizzy at times absorbing all the information.

It is this shape-shifting in Bechdel’s work, the layering of thoughts, the back and forth of time, the dreams, the gut-level honesty that makes this memoir unforgettable. It is not only funny and insightful, but an inspiring work of nonfiction that connects the dots between the lived life and one that circles constantly in the imagination.

The past few years have seen an explosion in graphic memoirs that no longer bother to hide under the graphic “novel” moniker. Such books range from childhood memoirs (Stitches by David Small) to very adult topics (Paying For It by Chester Brown).

I feel like a kid in a candy store (or at least a kid back in the comic section of a newsstand). Maybe it’s the old comic book fan in me or maybe it’s simply the joy of discovering a new vein in contemporary nonfiction that has me so excited. Graphic memoirs from this new generation of artist-writers have earned their place on serious nonfiction reading lists, not only for the pleasure of seeing how story can be stitched together but for lessons on wildly innovative approaches to illustrating memory.

Janice Gary lives and writes in Annapolis, Maryland, on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Her book, Short Leash: A Memoir of Dog Walking and Deliverance, is due out from Michigan State University Press in 2013.


Filed under experimental, memoir, teaching, education

Feeding the hungry writer

Guest Post by Janice Gary

Mavis Gallant, now 90, in her youth

While reading the latest issue of The New Yorker, I came across “The Hunger Diaries,” excerpted entries (March-June, 1952) from the journal of novelist and short story writer Mavis Gallant. From the very first sentence, the writing captivated me, plunging me into a world both exotic and maddeningly boring, a life narrated in cinematic detail by an unforgettable voice.

An armed guard in gray, a church, a wild rocky coast which rushes a steel sea… At Portbou, (I) leave the train…my luggage is inspected by insolent guards…I am caught between a quarreling French couple. Evidently, bringing the baby was her idea – he knew better from the start.

The entries in The New Yorker come from a period when Ms. Gallant was living “hand to mouth” in Spain, having left her husband, her journalism job, and her country to make a life as a writer in Europe. Her training as a reporter is evident in the way she records the sights, sounds and events taking place around her. But the hand of an emerging artist is also evident, both in the beauty of the prose and in the compelling material. This is more than a journal; it is a powerful piece of autobiographical writing.

You can almost hear the rumbling of Gallant’s stomach as she continues to stay the course, typing manuscripts, teaching English and selling her clothes for money. She perseveres, hungering not only for food but for the creative spark to sustain a new novel.

This novel, this bird in my mind, I have carried since Austria, suddenly alighted in Madrid. Sitting in the Café Telefonica, eating a dry bun, I saw one of those girls with the long jaw… and of course, that was the girl in the book.

The rollercoaster quality of the prose takes my breath away. Lyrical in one moment, down to the earth the next, Gallant constantly grounds her writing in the stunning power of the ordinary. The dry bun. The insolent guard. The quarreling couple.

The last few months have been a time of ups and downs in my own writing. The intoxication of being contracted for my first book followed by a disorienting lack of direction. There are long days when I do not write at all, which for a writer is a kind of starvation.

That’s why “The Hunger Diaries” speaks so strongly to me. This is a writer who, although famished most of the time, continues to feed herself with observations and insights. It makes me realize how anorexic I have been these last few months, stubbornly refusing to do what I can, write what I can, about whatever I can.

After reading the essay, I pull out my journal. I write about the unrelenting sun, the sharp cries of osprey circling the sky, the emptiness I feel when I’m not writing. Then I return to Mavis Gallant and devour her writing, awed by the strange and wonderful way we writers feed ourselves – and each other – with words.

Editor’s Note: There’s an interesting 1999 Paris Review interview with Mavis Gallant available online.

Janice Gary

Janice Gary lives and writes in Annapolis, Maryland, on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Her book, Short Leash: A Memoir of Dog Walking and Deliverance, is due out from Michigan State University Press in 2013.


Filed under fiction, journalism, NOTED, working method