On Advice Books

Four Questions for Sue William Silverman

Sue William Silverman is one of the best essayists and writing experts I know. I first met Sue at Vermont College (now Vermont College of the Arts) in the early days of the new millennium. I had been hired to teach at the low-residency MFA program, specifically to teach the program’s first-ever nonfiction workshop at their winter residency in Montpelier, Vermont. Sue, who was a graduate of the program, was my assistant ostensibly, a fact that no one informed me of. Consequently, I simply thought of her as my co-workshop leader, which turned out to be inadvertently wise of me. It was clear from the outset that she knew at least as much about CNF as I did, likely more, and she dispensed some of the best insights into student work that I had ever witnessed. Not long after that, she was hired as the second person on the faculty to teach CNF, and she has since been a fixture at that institution. In the publishing arena, she has written and published critically-aclaimed books of essays as well as important books of writing advice. She won the Associated Writing Program’s award for nonfiction with her first memoir, Because I Remember Terror Father, I Remember You, followed by a series of critically-acclaimed memoirs and books of essays, including Love Sick, The Pat Boone Fan Club, and How to Survive Death and other Inconveniences (she also pens some of the best titles of anyone I know). I regularly recommend her writing text, Fearless Confessions, for writers who want to tackle difficult personal material. I’m not alone in my admiration for her. Several years ago, The Associated Writing Programs (AWP) named its annual award for the best CNF collection after her, a singular honor she heartily deserves as she has been both an exemplar of the form for many years as well as one of the prime advocates of the personal essay and memoir. So I was excited to learn that she had published another book of writing advice recently, Acetelyne Torch Songs: Writing True Stories to Ignite the Soul. For this Substack, I occasionally ask writers I admire to answer four questions about their work, and so I asked Sue if she would engage with me on the topic of writing advice books. Like memoir, writing guides sometimes get a bad rap, and I wanted to know what Sue thought about the subject. In these mini-interviews I try to ask four questions that the writer in question likely has not been asked before. That’s hard with Sue becuase she’s been interviewed a lot! But here goes:

ME: I’m sure you’ve run across the attitude of some writers that how-to writing books are written by hacks for hacks, to put it brutally. They often say that a writer should learn by reading literature, not how-to books, as though the two are mutually exclusive. You and I have both written more than one such book, and I recommend Fearless Confessions all the time. I’m sure that you write such books, as I think I do, because you don’t know of any books like them, and because they offer much-needed perspectives or approaches to writing and the writer’s life. But my question is this: what writer whose work you admire would you have loved to have written a writing guide, but who never did? What would you have liked to learn from them and how would you have found it helpful?

SUE: Okay, he’s not a writer, but I’d love to read a book on art—the meaning of art—by Mikhail Baryshnikov, the Russian ballet dancer. In interviews he explains how art speaks to the heart of humanity and that, through art, we discover truth. He also urges us (humankind) to discover the courage and generosity of spirit in order for art to flourish.

Art, culture, writing matter even more during the hard times—and given the current political climate—we are decidedly in the hard times. We need to write our hearts out. Now!  Ultimately, universally—over the course of civilization—all that truly survives is art.

So, Mikhail, if you’re listening, please write a book that urges us all to engage in art and save the universe!

Plus, just think what he could teach writers about intensity, fluidity, and grace.

ME: Could you discuss your intended reader for Acetylene Torch Songs? I know that sounds like an Author’s Questionnaire type of question, but my question isn’t about marketing. I ask because the book seems pitched towards two types of readers. On the one hand, you seem to be writing to the neophyte with the list titled “Sue’s  EZ Rules to Write By.” Or at least it’s advice that a writer who has been at it for a while likely knows more or less already. It’s important advice, but perhaps not news to a seasoned writer. On the other hand, you include sections that a writer such as myself, who has done this for a while, would find completely useful, such as your advice on ordering a collection of essays and your sample book proposal. Is that something that you were aware of as you were writing the book?  Or do you see this book more as a kind of writer’s bible that they might first pick up at the beginning of their career but keep referring back to at various stages?

SUE: Even though, of course, some writers have published more than others, I myself don’t differentiate. To me, we’re all writers struggling with this, struggling with that. Sometimes, when I begin a new essay, I feel as if it’s my first essay ever—as if I’ve completely forgotten how to write—until slowly, by trial and error, it comes into focus. In this way, I’m always learning, always approaching work anew. So when I wrote Acetylene Torch Songs, I didn’t have an intended audience as such (outside of writers, of course). I more wrote the book to try to create a sense of community among all writers.

ME: What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever received and conversely, what is the best advice?

The worst advice was to show don’t tell. No!

For fiction writers: tell through showing. 

For writers of creative nonfiction: show and tell.

The best advice is contained in the following bit of dialogue:

Therapist: “Sue, what will help with your depression?”

 Sue: “Getting a book published will help with my depression.”

Therapist: “No, that will only mean you’ll be a depressed person with a book published.”

(Moral of story: Don’t expect publication to be a mood elevator.)

ME: Can you recall a darling that you didn’t kill, for good or ill? I know that that’s usually meant for fiction writers, but I think that memoirists and personal essayists also have darlings, as in scenes from their life that they shouldn’t have included or one that they wish they hadn’t struck. 

A darling I didn’t kill (or which was resurrected) is a passage in my memoir Love Sick: One Woman’s Journey through Sexual Addiction. It’s maybe about a page in which I convey, imagistically, what it feels like to be an addict. My editor, who was great, nevertheless crossed it out. After obsessing about it (Is she right? Wrong?), I took the page and placed it in another section of the book—where it remains. My editor never mentioned it again. Maybe it worked better in its new location? Maybe she never noticed I’d moved it? It’s still my favorite passage in the book.

ME: Thank you, Sue!