ByJane

ByJane
Location
Sacramento, California, USA
Birthday
July 03
Bio
Oh god, not the old bio bs again....I am, variously, a writer, editor, knitter, foodie human being type person . My blogs are http://byjane.blogspot.com and http://midlifebloggers.com I am also Newly Single, and that seems to be the place I'm writing from--oops, also a writing/comp teacher, and that should be "from which I'm writing"--these days. However, my interests are eclectic; my opinions are endless; and I'm not shy about expressing them. Except when I am--and only I know when that is, unfortunately after the fact at times.

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Salon.com
SEPTEMBER 28, 2008 2:08PM

Telling The Truth

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I'm searching for a quote by William Faulkner. You know, the one about memory and ways of looking at a blackbird and the past never really being past. Except I think I'm conflating at least three of Faulkner's most famous lines. I want to find it because today I wrote this:

Every family has their own story, the tale they tell the world about who they are and what they stand for and where they’re going or not. And every member of every family has their own version. As Faulkner said, “  . . .  .”   So too if you added up all the versions of each family member, you would get something perhaps approximating the truth.
This is my version of my family’s story. I call it “Washing Dirty Linen” because that is what my mother was zealous that we never do: wash our dirty linen in public. Bare our secrets. Tell our truths. But she’s gone now and so is my father, so there’s no one left who I care about protecting.
I've been thinking about this for a long time. But maybe not long enough to be able to actually write it. Maybe my mother hasn't been dead long enough, although it's now been nine years. The long arm of Libby Lee may, in fact, be capable of reaching far beyond the grave--and she would like that. That arm is doing what it did so often in the past, reaching under the table and squeezing my knee in a vise-like grip: Silence. Quiet. Don't wash your dirty linen.

Not that our linen was really very dirty. Nothing heinous happened in my family; no secrets that would shock the world. Still, I can't really get a grip on what I want to say. I'm writing and deleting line after line, trying to capture this sense I have of--of what?
Of smoke and mirrors.

Faulkner has always been my favorite author. If things had been different when I began my PhD studies, if the professor I had gone to work
with, the Faulkner scholar, hadn't taken early retirement, I might be teaching Southern Literature at some university. And then surely these Faulkner quotes would be tripping off my tongue, rather than lurking somewhere in the back recesses of my memory.

Author tags:

faulkner, family, memory

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Comments

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Blogging personal matters is a very fraught activity. The problem is that to do it justice, you have to bare it all, and once you do that, you have documented a record that can be accessed worldwide, by anyone so inclined. And the opportunity to create pain with that fact cannot be taken lightly.
I'm dying to read some dirt here, even if it's only garden variety, ring-around-the-collar stuff. Don't tease me.
I agree with Liz. One of the reasons I focus on news on my main blog outside of OS is because I have never been comfortable with the typical blog. Little bits and pieces of course come through...but very judiciously. The really important stories I write down privately for my children to have some sense of me and where I and they come from.
Don't say anything that you can't stand behind, I agree. I was just teasing you.
this is what my poem is partly about that i just blogged. silence.
don't be afraid to Speak, it equals life.
I am guilty of over-sharing, but in truth, I have let loose with about 1% of the tales I could tell about myself and others. When you are ready, you will write it!
Thank you, Liz and all, for your concern. I've been a writer long enough, and of enough genres, that I know blogging is just another form of publication. The record is always documented; to believe otherwise is naive. And I've been a writer long enough to know that the only writing I really care about is that which is as honest as the writer can make it. Otherwise, what's the point?