The Situation
Me: Ack, I'm hopeless! I've just written something so awful. What'm I gonna do? [sitting with bowed head, wringing fingers]
Writing master: [sigh] What is it now?
Me: So, I didn't want to, but I finally wrote that painful, painful story about that time years ago when I saw my brother killing a mouse with a pin. He's gonna kill me if he finds out I wrote it!
Writing master: Were you honest in the story? Did you portray your brother badly?
Me: Well, no, I used as much compassion as I could. My bro was maybe torturing the mouse because he felt frustrated "bout being an ESL student and not being able to understand English those first years in America. But that"s not the point! I don't want to spread my life all over the place!
Writing master: You have to stop doing this! Why be afraid if you've written something beautiful?
Me: Oh, I don't know . . . Hey, what if I wrote the story as fiction?
The Problem
Every time the venerable New York Times reviews a newly published memoir, there is underhanded (or even full-out) jabbing aimed at the writer's reliability as a narrator. Questions such as: So, how does he/she really remember all those details, like the exact floral patterns on his/her mother's beige colored dress? Are we supposed to believe that these conversations are remembered word for word? Some of the scenes are a bit questionable.
On the other hand, the Times is always fawning over some new, of course brilliant work of fiction. I grimace whenever I think of this treatment.
The Truth
As a memoirist, yea, I admit, we creative non-fiction writers do tend to stretch the truth a bit, but the honest and moral among us draw a line between recreating our past and out-and-out lying. The only time when I think the truth should be disguised is in order to protect a loved one. Memoirists can always disguise their loved ones or publish the essay in a small literary magazine.
Also, disguising non-fiction as fiction has its problems, since fiction and non-fiction often have different structures and the writer-reader relationship is definitely different. A fictional story about a boy torturing a mouse has to have some plot element that would intrigue the reader; a non-fictional recounting of one's brother inflicting pain on a living creature asks for the reader's sympathy and compassion. If you had a choice, in which genre would you publish the story?
