I did my thesis on Hemingway. Most good short story writers are terrific liars. Faulkner was the same way. Before he got famous, he lied that he was a pilot in WWI. He never got past Canadian flight training.
Brian William ought to give short story writing a shot. Ought to be terrific at it.
I did my thesis on Hemingway. Most good short story writers are terrific liars. Faulkner was the same way. Before he got famous, he lied that he was a pilot in WWI. He never got past Canadian flight training.
—
Interesting.
Self-delusion may be great for a fiction writer, but it is disaster for a plane pilot. 320kts 10,000 feet, I'm good, when you are augering in won't cut it.
I had a home in Oxford, MS (Faulkner’s old stomping ground) for many years and plan to retire there some day. Residents were ambivalent about old Bill during his lifetime, even when he became famous.
One woman I know (an Oxford native) remembers seeing Faulkner go to his neighbors’ homes in the 1950s (after he won the Nobel Prize for literature), asking if they had any whiskey he could have. Faulkner was often clad in his pajamas while trying to bum booze from his neighbors. Years earlier, he was given the job as postmaster at Ole Miss, to give him a steady income while he tried to establish himself as a writer. He quit after only two weeks, announcing he would “never be a slave to someone with a five-cent stamp.”
My favorite Faulkner story is from his Hollywood years. Contrary to popular belief, he was successful in Tinsel Town, with a number of successful collaborations with director Howard Hawks. But at one point, writer’s block set in, and he asked permission to “write at home.” Studio execs said sure, assuming that Faulkner was referring to his local residence in LA. No one heard from the writer for several weeks, so M-G-M dispatched someone to check on Faulkner.
When they couldn’t find him there, a minor panic ensued until someone had the idea of calling Oxford, to see if Faulkner was back in Mississippi. Sure enough, he was, and couldn’t see what the fuss was about. After all Faulkner told them he was “going home to write.” The alternate version of this story suggests Bill had to go back to Oxford to stop his wife from giving the money he sending home to his mother-in-law.
After Faulkner’s death, he truly became an icon (and a tourist draw) in Oxford. A lot of the old grudges were forgiven, since Bill brought people (and money) to town.
I don’t think Fitzgerald was a liar but you may be on to something anyway. Hemingway may have come to believe his lies although when biographers came a-callin’ in his lifetime, he suddenly clammed up about his exploits.
And journalists often make good novelists. I think of Margaret Mitchell who whatever one may think about her point of view was a brilliant storyteller. They know what to include and what to cut out and what is the telling detail. Of course, that doesn’t apply at all to modern journalists who are total liars.
Big Two-Hearted River is exceptional. His Nick Adams stories are so powerful.