When Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

Inspiration is all around us, within our homes and throughout our vast, amazing world. Case in point: the featured image comes from my once-in-a-lifetime trip to the Galapagos, and I can testify that Blue Footed Boobies were the goofiest looking, most captivating, and awe-inspiring birds I’ve ever seen. Yes, animals and nature fire up my creativity, but family, historical and current events, mythology, and on occasion, my wild and crazy dreams, all provide fodder for my stories.

So you may find it curious that the only times my critique partners have remarked, “No Way! That’s not possible!” are when I’ve portrayed the EXACT details of events from my childhood. And I know, from many critique meetings over the years, that others have experienced the same sticky issue.

I considered giving advice on how to handle this, but honestly, so much depends on what type of story you’re writing, how many people share the same opinion, whether your critique buddies relate to or understand your identify and background, and how open you are to receiving honest critiques from other writers. Because of those variables and more, I decided instead to share two of my “Truth is Stranger than Fiction” examples – along with my (regrettable) immediate and (thoughtful) longer term reactions to the comments I received – in hopes that they will entertain you – as well as inspire you to ponder your own responses if/when you find your truth-inspired plot points challenged.

EXAMPLE #1:

THE STICKY DETAIL: The plot of my MG novel hinged on my belief that Concert Band begins in 6th grade. This was true for my oboe-playing self growing up in a small Connecticut town, and also for my trumpet-playing son (now 21), growing up in a large Massachusetts town. So imagine how I felt when one member of my critique group had a rather strenuous objection to the veracity of this detail.

MY IMMEDIATE REACTION: I blurted out, burning with self-righteousness, “But that’s how it really happened!” After my outburst, I sheepishly acknowledged that commitments to music programs must vary between towns. But I couldn’t stop thinking: even though only one person objected, could this sticky issue derail my entire story?

THE DEEP DIVE: Lo and behold, I discovered that in recent years, our local schools have enjoyed the opportunity to start band and orchestra in earlier grades. Yes, my MG story as originally conceived was indeed derailed.

AFTER THE DUST SETTLED: Eventually, I changed the story concept from MG to YA and kept only my intimate knowledge of the oboe intact. I forced myself to acknowledge that over time, things change, including the cost of those finicky double reeds. As I intend for this novel to be realistic and contemporary, it’s critical that I keep a finger on the ever-changing pulse.

EXAMPLE #2:

THE STICKY DETAIL: At my first and last piano recital in 5th grade, I endured an evaluation by a boisterous and dramatic German conductor – whose presence on the Hartt School stage was an “unexpected treat!” according to the star-struck MC. Though my hands were shaking, I began to play forte, loud enough for the entire audience to hear. But less than halfway through, the conductor barked “You’re playing march of giants!” and stomped across the stage. As I blinked back tears, he began to prance, yelling, “This is supposed to be Elfin Dance! Tiny elves! Start from the beginning!” Somehow, I hit the right notes, pianissimo. But I can assure you that afterward, I flew off the stage, a teary wreck. As an adult, I reflected on how this mortifying experience infected my life. Wishing to help young children embrace situations such as these, I felt inspired to write a picture book.

MY IMMEDIATE REACTION: When I heard, “That can’t possibly be true,” I didn’t blurt anything out (not that I remember, anyway.) But when revision ideas were shared, I felt too numb to listen properly.

THE COLD, HARD TRUTH: This was definitely a “Truth is Stranger than Fiction” moment of my life, a cold, hard introduction to an overly harsh, very public critique. Over time, after numerous rewrites, I decided that my experience doesn’t fit easily into a picture book – at least, not how it’s tattooed to my brain.

AFTER THE DUST SETTLED: While I acknowledge this story could be changed in countless ways, I haven’t felt inspired to reimagine it. I appreciate hearing the cold, hard truth about my work, even when it hurts.

How we each respond, during a critique and after the dust settles is up to each of us and the type of story we’re writing. Should you find yourself getting the “No way! ” comment, whether it stems from your real life experience or any plot point you’re deeply committed to, here are five questions to ask yourself as you ponder your next creative move.

1.) Is the questioned plot point the heart of your entire story or a minor detail?

2.) How many individuals had the same reaction? One dissenter or many?

3.) Is your story meant to mirror real life? Or is it meant to be wild, crazy, and magical? Or some combination of the two? For more on this, I highly recommend you read Marti Johnson’s April 16th post, Fiction isn’t Fact, Right?

4.) Who is your intended audience? If you’re aiming for realism, should you seek sensitivity readers?

5.) Are you writing non-fiction? There are countless examples where truth HAS proven to be stranger than fiction!

I hope my experiences and/or questions helped you – or at least made you think, “Phew! I’m glad this never happened to me!” I would love to hear your thoughts, and if you’re willing, your own sticky details and immediate and longer term reactions!
(P.S. All the photos in this post are my own, which seemed fitting for a post about the wild and crazy truth!)