Dinty W. Moore on literary truths and flash nonfiction
by Nicholas Reading
Sport Literate: You write in your collection of essays Between Panic and Desire, “Human beings, truth be told, are inept narrators of their own lives.” If this is true, and I agree that it is, how then does writing and telling stories create, or recreate that truth?
Dinty W. Moore: Well, first off, there are fictional stories, which have their own truth certainly, and then there is nonfiction, which has become my passion over the last 20 years. And of course, there is a contradiction: if people are inept narrators of their own lives, how can they write memoir and call it truthful?
My thought is that the struggle between flawed memory and truth is part of the journey of any writing about the self — poetry or prose — and that journey, or struggle, is what gives energy to the stories being told. A memoir in which the author’s stance was “This is exactly what happened, I’m sure of it, and there is no room to question” would strike me as very flat, and unbelievable.
This doesn’t give the nonfiction writer license to just make stuff up, however. The reader expects and deserves the best the writer can do to capture events accurately, to interrogate memory, to be honest when not sure of something. The writer has to do her damndest to get it right, even though memory is a slippery devil and we are indeed inept narrators. The sophisticated reader knows that and accepts it. But lying is something else, and a writer needs to know the difference.
SL: You write in many different facets — as an essayist, a fiction writer, a poet, as an editor of anthologies, and you write about the craft. What aspects of these genres are different, and what aspects are germane to them all?
DWM: What is common to every one of those modes is the need to look at every sentence that you write, or every line, and ask, “So that sounds good, but do I mean it? Do I believe it?” I don’t do this in early drafts. My early drafts are a sloppy process of spilling language onto the page hoping to stumble upon something interesting and fresh. But as I get further down the revision process, in draft 10 or 20, I start asking myself the hard questions. A sentence or line that sounds lovely can be dangerous, because it can be camouflage for a half-truth or an outright inaccuracy. This applies to fiction too. Sure, we make it up, but do we actually believe it? Would that character actually leave that baby on the stoop?
SL: You also are a teacher at Ohio University and I am curious to know what advice do you offer to young and aspiring authors?
DWM: Well, at the beginning, the advice is simple. Write a lot, read a lot. If you don’t love sentences, the way they work, the inner machinery and engineering of language, you probably don’t belong here. That’s beginner advice. Knowing how to help writers very far along and quite talented is a different challenge, and one that keeps me on my teacher toes.
SL: You edited an anthology of flash nonfiction, The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Writing Flash Nonfiction. How are the challenges of writing flash nonfiction, or fiction, different from longer essays or pieces of fiction?
DWM: The challenge is to tell a full story, give a complete experience of some sliver of life, in so few words. It is not enough to summarize “a story I would tell fully if I had more space.” You need to compress so much in each sentence, and each sentence must do double- or triple-duty, so that the flash story has scene, characterization, point-of-view, and movement. The author must create that “burst of self-awareness” that the term “flash” implies. It doesn’t just go by in a flash: it illuminates, like a flash gun.
SL: You close the introduction to that book, by saying, “My hope is that you enjoy this book and learn from it, but most of all my hope is that you’ll be inspired to write, revise, and write some more. And then keep writing.” In short, what value does writing offer to an individual, either professional or personal? What value does it offer to the reader?
DWM: Some writing opens the mind, expands what we know, how we understand. Some writing opens the heart and soul, expands how we feel, how we empathize, how we grow. True for both writer and reader. That’s enough value for me.
SL: Given that you write in many different modes, I am curious to know where you started and what writing offered to you?
DWM: I grew up in a lower middle class family without many books around. My dad was a car mechanic. I knew no one who wrote seriously, or wrote as an artist. So like so many young writers, my passion for the way words work was funneled into journalism, the high school newspaper, then the college newspaper, then a brief career as a journalist. I was 30 years old before I realized I could do the kind of writing that I do now, which is what I actually wanted to do all along.
What did writing offer me? It was a challenge, one that I still enjoy.
SL: Besides essays, Sport Literate publishes poetry as well. You, in fact, were an early poetry contributor. What draws you to poetry and — this is a big one — what constitutes a successful poem?
DWM: I am not much of a poet. I would only embarrass myself if I tried to answer your question.
SL: You write honestly in your own work and seem to open yourself up to vulnerability. Your nonfiction, I would say, is particularly powerful because of this aspect. Was this approach always easy or did you have to work to get to that point?
DWM: I was not able to be honest, or vulnerable, as a young man, but when I started to become serious about my writing, and started writing short fiction, I immediately recognized that the writers who spoke to me most powerfully — Flannery O’Connor, Raymond Carver, Harry Crews — held nothing back, gave all of it on the page. I’m not comparing myself to any of those folks, but I learned from them, not just about mechanics and craft, but about heart, honesty, and risk.
SL: I offer many thanks for your kindness to judge Sport Literate’s essay contest. What are the qualities that you are looking for when selecting work?
DWM: Sentences, carefully shaped and crafted, full of color, sound, smell, taste, and texture. And urgency.
SL: In closing, could you share what role sports and leisurely activities have played in your life?
DWM: I am never happier than when playing tennis, or gardening. Riding a bike is in there too. And just last year, someone handed me a golf club, and much to my surprise, I loved the game. Oh yes, swimming. Which reminds me, I should turn off my computer now and go outside.
Nicholas Reading is the author of The Party in Question (Burnside Review Press 2007), and his poetry has appeared in Painted Bride Quarterly, Nimrod, jubilat, and other literary journals. He’s also the managing editor of Sport Literate. Interested in more Reading? Visit www.nicholasreading.com.
Dinty W. Moore is author of Dear Mister Essay Writer Guy: Advice and Confessions on Writing, Love, and Cannibals (Random House/Ten Speed 2015), as well as the memoir Between Panic & Desire and Crafting the Personal Essay: A Guide for Writing and Publishing Creative Nonfiction. He recently edited The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Writing Flash Nonfiction: Advice and Essential Exercises from Respected Writers, Editors, and Teachers. He’s also the editor of Brevity, the essential online journal for brief creative nonfiction.