the james frey fracas

I write a lot of personal essays that get published, for which I am paid money. For several years, I made most of my writing income on personal essays.

Last May, I had my most personal of personal essays published in the NYT. It was about my divorce and the custody disagreement I dealt with. I worked really hard on it and it was edited very thoroughly by the good folks at the NY Times. It was the truth, and it didn't cast me or the other primary player in the event in the most flattering light, because divorces are messy, nasty affairs.

But it was the truth.

Immediately after it was published, my ex contacted me to tell me that he couldn't imagine why I had published this passel of complete lies. I was flabbergasted. He told me that, in his opinion, several of the incidents I described literally NEVER occurred and that others were embellished. He continues to hold this opinion.

So here's where it stands: I will tell you unequivocally that every word in that essay is true and he will tell you it's made up.

Who is right?

Well, in the case of the stuff that's in our legal filings, it's easy enough to track down the truth, should someone want to. But in the case of conversations we had that were without witnesses, he remembers some of them one way and I remember them another way.

Just as each of us would tell you different reasons why our marriage ended, each of us will recall different details/versions of how the break-up went down.

I have accepted that his story is different than mine. The one he tells people probably isn't the same one I tell and I've let go of feeling that I have a right or need to "set the record straight." It's his life and he owns his own story. He can tell it however and whenever and to whomever he chooses.

But I also own my own story. In fact, I am at work on a book about it. As I am writing, I am constantly aware of the importance of telling the truth while balancing sensitivity to the feelings of other people who have played a role in my story.

This is how I can't understand how James Frey thought he could get away with his HUGE lies in his book "A Million Little Pieces." In his case, there is no disgruntled ex claiming details of certain conversations played out differently than they did. That would be different. Frey somehow thought he could make up things like an 3 month prison sentence and get away with it.

Memoirists are going to piss people off becausem if they do their job right, they tell the truth about things that others remember differently. People are going to nitpick details and nuances. There is no way a a memoirist can get away with Really Big Lies when the story will necessarily have those who lived it with them picking it apart over even the tiniest details.

I am nervous that Frey's lies have suddenly chilled the market for those of us who write creative nonfiction/memoir. That would be tragic, because people telling their own stories is an integral part of human communication. It's how we make sense of our lives, by telling our own stories and listening to others'.

And as I have said before: Hey guys! Listen up! If you don't want to end up in her art, don't sleep with an artist. I think sometimes men like the idea of being with a woman who paints or plays guitar or writes unless and until she creates work that portrays him in a way that isn't as he sees himself.