Dec 12 2008
To Be Real or Not to Be Real: Is That the Answer?
I have to say, first off: I love Facebook. There are so many opportunities to connect with people, reconnect with others from long ago, hit people with hippos, all sorts of things. My roommate about a week ago wrapped me in bubble wrap on Facebook. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about that–but anyway, I digress.
I recently connected with a childhood friend of mine. I hadn’t seen him in almost two decades. It was remarkable how different he looked–but I still recognized him. Naturally, we chatted over Facebook a few times already. I learned that he studied in the medical field, became a surgeon. My first thought was–wow! I had to take a look again at his picture and marvel at that! I only knew him as a little kids who much rather played with the NES than operate on a living, breathing human being.
Anyway, once I caught him up on my life, I told him I was a writer and a caption editor. I told him I was writing books–two agents are considering one right now. Shocked, he immediately jumped on the gun to ask me a question–
Now that is cool, he said. I then have a favor to ask of you….
I, of course, told him, sure. His favor was if I could read an excerpt of his journal, an account of some of his experiences as a surgeon. I enjoy reading other people’s work. He, by no means, claimed to be a writer. And I read his excerpt and could tell how uncomfortable he was at telling a tale.
The amazing thing, though, was his story within that excerpt was PHENOMENAL. It tugged at my heart cords, almost broke them. My inner wiring was stretched to the limit before I’d short-circuit. That’s some serious drama! I thought to myself. It’s no wonder shows like “Grey’s Anatomy” and “ER” and “Scrubs” and “House” are so darn popular. Stories within the medical field grab us. No way around it. It involves life and death. It involves struggle.
The encouraging thing about his particular excerpt is that you don’t find many surgeons that could even have the time to document every single experience. They just don’t have the time. If such literary works do exist, there are few and far in between.
But my childhood friend is working on it. He wants to do it.
I pose a question to you, my readers: to be real or not to be real? Subject matter matters. But does or should the writing matter as much? Or more? Where do we draw the line between good stories and good writing? Which is more important? Reality writing or stellar writing? Does my childhood friend have a chance in publication simply because of his subject matter, the untouched niche, a real grabber?
Like I had said in a previous post, “Living to Write. Writing to Live”: to have stories, for telling tales, experience life. My childhood friend, I can easily guess, is definitely experiencing life. And death. He has plenty of stories to tell. I have my opinion on what matters when it comes to storytelling, to writing. What’s yours?
