With Friends Like That Who Needs Enemas
Written by John Erianne on August 28, 2006 – 4:34 pm -All of us who are in the writing game know what a lonely business it is. We understand the struggle with the naked white page. The toll it takes on the imagination. We know what it’s like to do something most people do not understand. That’s why it’s nice to have friends who do understand it. Like-minded kindred souls we can share our exeriences with.
I’ve had both the pleasure and displeasure of many literary friendships over the years. Some friends have remained friends to this day. Others have parted ways — some have slipped away quietly; others have stormed off in anger.
Of those who have stormed off in anger, there is one who sticks out in my memory. Her name was Anya and I met her in grad school in a class called “Principles of Publishing.” We began talking and quickly became friends. I don’t want to imply that our was ever a romantic relationship. I wasn’t interested in her in that way and I have no reason to believe she ever felt that way about me. But it was a literary friendship — one that meant a lot to me, and one that I hoped would endure for some time. About year and a half after we first met, the friendship ended. I suppose it was my fault. We were both taking a Novel writing workshop. I had already had my fiction workshopped weeks before and she was the last student to have her feet put to the fire. She was nervous. It was clear she didn’t like criticism and that anything short of a glowing endorsement of her writing was going to fall on deaf ears. It was clear that she especially wanted this from me. I’ll admit, I agonized over my critique of her writing for days. I knew that if I were completely honest, I would risk losing her friendship, but I hoped she would be mature enough to understand. The choice was clear: I could powder her rear-end as only a friend would do, or I could show her a writer’s respect and tell her the truth. I decided to be honest. My criticism of her work was blunt, but it was also thorough and constructive. One of the die-hard rules in the classroom was that the writer being workshopped couldn’t speak until everyone in the class had their say. As I spoke she broke this rule and became defensive. Afterward, she refused to speak to me. The next year, she continued giving me the cold shoulder except during workshops in which she would use her time to impune my character to the rest of the class instead of critiquing my work. Several of the other students would approach me after class and ask me what her deal was. It was embarrassing and though I did not initially have any ill will towards her, by the end of the year, I grew to despise her. Her behaviour was beneath that of an intelligent 30-year old woman. We never spoke to each other again.
I am sorry things ended the way they did. Yet, I wouldn’t do anything different. No literary friendship is worth surrendering your integrity. Any friend who can’t understand that isn’t a real friend. Such is the nature of many literary friendships. Sometimes they are based on next to nothing and when they are tested — poof!, there you go.
