Oh, I love this story about a father and son who write “truish stories about fathers and sons.” From the beginning there’s a quality – vulnerability? Honesty? – that had me close to tears throughout. It’s constructed perfectly, with Harry Hodget, the son’s writing mentor, playing the part of wise outsider. His key line: “Anything worth saying is unsayable. That’s why we tell stories.” And so this father and son write stories, based on real-life events, to say what is worth saying to each other. It’s a remarkable story.
Of course, it’s a story about writers and writing, and I always enjoy those, even though they’re anathema to most journal editors. But I take away some writing advice from stories like these. I don’t know if the advice in the story is sincere or satirical, but a lot of it resonates with me.
First we have the “Six Rules of Writing” which of course the story breaks one after the other:
Never dramatize a dream.
Never use more than one exclamation point per story.
Never write about writing.
Never dramatize phone conversations. Put them in the same room, see what they do when they can’t hang up.
Never dramatize a funeral or a trip to the cemetery.
Never end your story with a character realizing something. Characters shouldn’t realize something, readers should.
This last one is key to me. I’ve put it in my “craft folder”. Along with: “Find a time for your characters when things might’ve turned out differently. Find the moment a choice was made that made other choices impossible. Readers like to see characters making choices.” And the comforting, “You’ll never earn a living writing stories, not if you’re any good at it.”
The mentor is an interesting character, a secondary father to the narrator. He asks, instead of “How are you,” “What are you pretending to be today?” When Frederick, the first-person narrator and the “son” of the primary father-son pair, complains about not having written for a month, the mentor spits out his father once tried to staple a dead squirrel to his scrotum, so stop whining. Yeah.
And there’s the element of competition, as Father starts writing stories that get published right next to Son’s. I understand how this feels to Son. But I also understand how it feels to Father, trying to communicate with a Son who isn’t really hearing, hasn’t been for some time. This effect is exaggerated as Father and Son have the same name.
Frederick (son) works as a remedial writing teacher at a community college. There’s a lot of complaining about too many stories about academics (hey, it’s what writers know) but this isn’t academia by any stretch. Frederick seems to be quite cynical about his class of literary underachievers, until a bag of Cheetos moves him to tears. I’m calling it a secondary father-son relationship, in which he’s the father all of a sudden. He doesn’t have a son of his own. He will someday. And won’t that be fun.
There are many stories told within this setup. Some are factually true; some are factual adaptations to serve truth. They are all beautiful, and it’s amazing to see what father and son are telling each other in these stories, these interpretations of real life events. There’s humor (Son calls to find out where baby carrots come from, then tries to write a story based on “babies are adults cut down to size”). There’s heartbreak. There’s not a false note throughout. Like I said, masterful.