This is going to be one of those “off the cuff” and probably
rather long posts – nothing concluded in my mind and without the structure of
the well-considered essay. Just a few
thoughts to, perhaps, inspire a few in return – a conversation, if you will.
I’ve been thinking about privacy and its first cousins
solitude and silence this past week. I
think about these things a lot. Not
because social media seems to have brought such considerations up close and
personal – to coin a phrase – but because I value all three and do my best to
cradle them gently, lest I lose them.
And I was traveling all day yesterday through three airports (privacy
aside, you pretty much all know how I feel about flying) – and unless you’re
driving alone on a deserted road with no radio signal and a dud sound system,
travel will always compromise privacy, solitude and silence.
In one airport yesterday, among the people around me, I
learned the following: That the young
man in the black pants and black check shirt with a black tie – though the
shirt was hanging out of his pants – was on his way to California to make a
movie about skiers. Even the people in
not so close proximity to him knew this about him (and I’m using some of his
language here) – that he didn’t give a f**k about what so-and-so thought, but
everyone just had to get out there and make it happen. He fielded several calls to this effect, and
I was not the only member of his audience – for what does a projected voice
demand, but an audience? – to notice that he chewed the inside of his mouth as
if he were eating dinner while talking, and he looked around and fidgeted as if
he could not concentrate on just one thing.
I did not want to hear any of this, so I moved away, as did other audience
members – but we shuffled straight into another “sharing.” The woman with very dyed blonde hair, a
bright pink smock and tight leggings spoke in a voice loud enough to let
everyone at gate B9 know exactly what she thought of her ex. In my book she was trumped by the girl next
to me who had to make arrangements for her two dogs, given the delay – I began
to worry about her dogs. Anyone who has
been at an airport in the past twenty years would have a similar story of
unsolicited information reaching them too loud and too clear. These experiences led to me thinking about
privacy and what we consider it to be now – and I began by looking at myself,
and my behavior with regard to that which is personal in my life.
Once, at a meeting of writers, the person interviewing me
said words to the effect that, “We know all about Maisie Dobbs and the other characters in Jacqueline’s books, but
here’s what we know about Jacqueline – that she’s a writer, that she was born
in the UK, and that she lives in California – and that’s it!” And I wondered if that wasn’t all everyone
needed to know. Around the same time, my
then publisher encouraged me to add more about my life to my website – a page
with details about my pets, for example.
They wanted to see more about my family, about me – to “share” with my
readers. I was pretty much convinced that all my readers wanted to know was
when the next book was coming out! But I
went ahead and “shared” more about who I am and what I had done, and it seemed
that no big dam of information was breached.
You see, despite what you might read about me or by me, I’m a rather
private person. Or am I?
Writing posts for www.nakedauthors.com has given me the
opportunity to indulge in the personal essay – and what is the personal essay
if not an opportunity to touch the universal by way of the personal? You who
visit this blog know quite a bit about me, don’t you? You know I adore my horse Oliver, that I am
getting to know Wolke, who I bought last summer and that Maya, our Labrador was
a rescue pup from the LA County Shelter.
You know – I think – that my beloved mare, Sara, had to be laid to rest
last summer, and that losing her all but broke my heart. You know my Dad died in 2012 – I wrote about
him on my Facebook page, mainly to thank the booksellers and readers who were
so understanding when I had to cancel most of my book tour. You know that sometimes I like to write about
the lighter moments in life, and that at others I write about elements of life
that affect me deeply. But where is the
line? Have I opened a bottle and
released the genie of my past, present and future so that nothing is private
any more? I wonder about that sometimes,
especially when I skirt very personal questions at events (such as bookstore
readings and so on). I try to use humor
when I do that, scanning the audience for the next raised hand. At one bookstore event several years ago, the
bookseller said afterwards that she had never known an author have so deal with
so many personal questions, tap-dancing around them. I wondered, then, if
perhaps people think I am the characters I write about, and because they know
so much about Maisie Dobbs, perhaps they think they know me more intimately
than they do, therefore such questions are OK.
I think other authors with a series have experienced the same thing.
It’s not that we don’t appreciate every single person who bothered to turn out
to see us – heaven knows I am so grateful for that support – but sometimes we unwittingly
blur our own line in the sand, and therefore must look to ourselves for the
consequences.
And remember, I’m still thinking out loud.
Although I keep my cellphone with me for emergency purposes,
I find I am leaving it off more and more.
I called my husband yesterday from a discreet place in the airport to
tell him about the flight delays and that I would call from the car when I’d
arrived at my final destination. Then I
turned off the cellphone. There was nothing
important I wanted to say to anyone, and at that point, there was nothing I
could do about any emergency that might arise, so it was better left off. No big-voice sharing from me.
I’m also thinking more about what I want anyone to know
about me, and I want to make sure I am clear with myself – what do I want to
hold close? What do I want to reveal
because there’s something of a story there. I have shared personal stories when
they have inspired something in my writing
- and I love to read the same of other authors. I’m interested in where stories come from.
Finally, perhaps we all think we’re more interesting than we
are. On the other hand, in the sharing
of stories – even the most personal stories – we know we aren’t alone in the
world. There’s something to be said for
that – as I said earlier, when the personal becomes the universal. The word “universe” means “one song” after
all, and apparently the root of the word “conversation” means “learning
together.”
I just think some conversations are best held in private.
In closing – here’s something I read in “When Women Were Birds” by Terry Tempest Williams:
“It is winter. Ravens
are standing on a pile of bones – black typeface on white paper, picking an
idea clean. It’s what I do each time I
sit down to write.”
What do you think?
Maybe we can pick this idea clean ….