I once had a coworker read a short story I’d written about addiction (I recently celebrated five years sober). I hadn't known him long but knew he was a literary man because we often discussed books and writing. The first thing he said to me when he returned the manuscript was the characters and events seemed stereotypes. I didn't disagree.
However, stereotypes are usually born from repetitive behaviors linked to a specific group of people. We’re supposed to avoid stereotypes because they’re often prejudiced, no matter how true they might be. In writing, stereotypes are deemed cliches, which makes portraying difficult subjects challenging because cliches are ubiquitously taboo, sometimes making a story predictive.
Though my coworker thought the story was too fabricated and somewhat derivative, the events in it, fictionalized partially, had happened. This is why real life doesn't always make good fiction. Many ideas and images and whatnot within our collective reality are stereotypes.
I just love you - your rawness, vulnerability, honesty, humor, intelligence. I've been a fan for decades, reading your poetry and prose and introducing you to my high school students. I have two adult children who are addicts - lots of heartbreak. Again, love you.
Per this powerful little essay, yes, I'd been one of the whites who raised his hand--paternal grandfather & beloved brother, who is recovering 30+ years now. Per your story in the latest Limberlost Review, "The Long Harvest,"--terrific--you at your best--well worth the cover price should any of your followers come across it. Thank you.
My white brother died of alcohol- and addiction-related multiple organ failure. It's through your writing that I've come to wonder what my brother was trying to blot out. You're right - alcoholism and addiction are emotional responses by humans in general, not by any specific race.
I am grateful to read this piece (as usual). When I was teaching, I always taught "What You Pawn I Will Redeem" (I mentioned this before, but it is relevant here). I always brought statistics about alcoholism in America to class to discuss Jackson's character and to examine his comments to the officer about the drunk tank and exactly who was occupying it. I used to ask my classes why they thought it was "full of drunk Indians" instead of people from other races and ethnicities.
Students often shared their own stories about alcoholism in response to this story--something that proved helpful for them and the whole class. On one occasion, I remember a student who was about 20 years old coming up after class and telling me that his father always vomited after eating greasy food like hamburgers the way that Jackson does and that he had not realized his father was an alcoholic before reading the story.
Sharing about alcoholism and other social issues and personal difficulties is at the heart of art. Clearly your characters help us to see ourselves and our families more clearly. What could be more important than gaining clear vision and feeling supported as we grapple with the human condition? Thank you for fighting censorship and bravely, unabashedly stating the truth!
Thank you for writing and talking about alcoholism, in general and in specifics. It is so important to acknowledge and discuss. I grew up in an alcoholic family, too,and became an alcoholic myself. My sobriety date is 2/22/88, thanks to Fremont Hall, especially. I’ll never forget the first time I heard you read downstairs at Elliott Bay Bookstore when you walked into the room with a rumpled trench coat and a bottle in a bag in your hand! Many didn’t recognize you and thought you were a bum off the street who’d stumbled in before the reading began! And then you walked right up to the podium and said, “Hi, I’m Sherman.” And there was a stunned silence so you said, “you’re supposed to say, ‘hi, Sherman!’” And I roared because I knew exactly what you were doing even though I’d never seen you before! We were starting the meeting. Oh, that was so glorious, Sherman! What a reading. ‘The Business of Fancydancing,’ what, 1992? I was four years sober by then and your work spoke to me in the same way people in meetings spoke to me. And ya still do. Thank you for your sobriety and for all your poems, all your writing. You tell it just like it is, man.
Sherman, I just finished reading Jesus Christ’s Half-Brother is Alive And Well on the Spokane Indian Reservation. By the time I got to the last 100 words my pain was enormous and then! You take the reader into the sky. I love these posts. Thank you.
I think we leave god to be born here. The loneliness so many of us feel is because us dopey humans are poor substitutes for god (who I believe is one chill dude). So we drink and drug to numb the pain of our loss and loneliness. I bet the bars in heaven are empty.
Lonesomeness and hopelessness and loss of oneself and loved ones are universal when speaking of alcoholism and addiction. Thank you for shining the light of truth. I have been to far too many funerals. Congrats on your 30.
I gave up drinking just before the pandemic started. I spent the lockdown alone, and I’m certain that if I had still been drinking during it, I would be dead. Those specific stories of loss are so tragic. The fire, my God. Thank you for this honest essay.
Not shining a light on dark things is how those things get darker and worse. I celebrate your recovery, and I know that writing and reading helps us all feel less lonely.
Stereotypes are generalizations. Your writing is specific. Good on these kids for asking, though. That can take guts. Hopefully, your responses help them see things a little differently. I know they did for me. Addiction is EVERYWHERE.
I find that young folks are far more courageous and weird and wonderful and invasive with their questions. Kids often ask me how much money I make as a writer. Adults NEVER ask that. I used to be evasive with my answer. But I realized that was rather dishonest. So now my answer is, "I've sold over 4 million books during my career. So I've done very well." Then I add the fact that very, very few writers sell enough books to be a full-time writer. I'd guess that fewer than 1,000 writers make a living at it. And it might be even fewer than that. I'm extremely lucky.
I once had a coworker read a short story I’d written about addiction (I recently celebrated five years sober). I hadn't known him long but knew he was a literary man because we often discussed books and writing. The first thing he said to me when he returned the manuscript was the characters and events seemed stereotypes. I didn't disagree.
However, stereotypes are usually born from repetitive behaviors linked to a specific group of people. We’re supposed to avoid stereotypes because they’re often prejudiced, no matter how true they might be. In writing, stereotypes are deemed cliches, which makes portraying difficult subjects challenging because cliches are ubiquitously taboo, sometimes making a story predictive.
Though my coworker thought the story was too fabricated and somewhat derivative, the events in it, fictionalized partially, had happened. This is why real life doesn't always make good fiction. Many ideas and images and whatnot within our collective reality are stereotypes.
I just love you - your rawness, vulnerability, honesty, humor, intelligence. I've been a fan for decades, reading your poetry and prose and introducing you to my high school students. I have two adult children who are addicts - lots of heartbreak. Again, love you.
Works for me. And I would be one of those 70% white people to raise my hand. My father was a lonely white man.
Per this powerful little essay, yes, I'd been one of the whites who raised his hand--paternal grandfather & beloved brother, who is recovering 30+ years now. Per your story in the latest Limberlost Review, "The Long Harvest,"--terrific--you at your best--well worth the cover price should any of your followers come across it. Thank you.
My white brother died of alcohol- and addiction-related multiple organ failure. It's through your writing that I've come to wonder what my brother was trying to blot out. You're right - alcoholism and addiction are emotional responses by humans in general, not by any specific race.
I hope this essay will be included in a future publication in some form. It needs a wide audience.
I am grateful to read this piece (as usual). When I was teaching, I always taught "What You Pawn I Will Redeem" (I mentioned this before, but it is relevant here). I always brought statistics about alcoholism in America to class to discuss Jackson's character and to examine his comments to the officer about the drunk tank and exactly who was occupying it. I used to ask my classes why they thought it was "full of drunk Indians" instead of people from other races and ethnicities.
Students often shared their own stories about alcoholism in response to this story--something that proved helpful for them and the whole class. On one occasion, I remember a student who was about 20 years old coming up after class and telling me that his father always vomited after eating greasy food like hamburgers the way that Jackson does and that he had not realized his father was an alcoholic before reading the story.
Sharing about alcoholism and other social issues and personal difficulties is at the heart of art. Clearly your characters help us to see ourselves and our families more clearly. What could be more important than gaining clear vision and feeling supported as we grapple with the human condition? Thank you for fighting censorship and bravely, unabashedly stating the truth!
Thank you for this beautifully written and articulated piece. May your understanding and compassion reach many hearts and minds.
Thank you for writing and talking about alcoholism, in general and in specifics. It is so important to acknowledge and discuss. I grew up in an alcoholic family, too,and became an alcoholic myself. My sobriety date is 2/22/88, thanks to Fremont Hall, especially. I’ll never forget the first time I heard you read downstairs at Elliott Bay Bookstore when you walked into the room with a rumpled trench coat and a bottle in a bag in your hand! Many didn’t recognize you and thought you were a bum off the street who’d stumbled in before the reading began! And then you walked right up to the podium and said, “Hi, I’m Sherman.” And there was a stunned silence so you said, “you’re supposed to say, ‘hi, Sherman!’” And I roared because I knew exactly what you were doing even though I’d never seen you before! We were starting the meeting. Oh, that was so glorious, Sherman! What a reading. ‘The Business of Fancydancing,’ what, 1992? I was four years sober by then and your work spoke to me in the same way people in meetings spoke to me. And ya still do. Thank you for your sobriety and for all your poems, all your writing. You tell it just like it is, man.
Sherman, I just finished reading Jesus Christ’s Half-Brother is Alive And Well on the Spokane Indian Reservation. By the time I got to the last 100 words my pain was enormous and then! You take the reader into the sky. I love these posts. Thank you.
I think we leave god to be born here. The loneliness so many of us feel is because us dopey humans are poor substitutes for god (who I believe is one chill dude). So we drink and drug to numb the pain of our loss and loneliness. I bet the bars in heaven are empty.
Lonesomeness and hopelessness and loss of oneself and loved ones are universal when speaking of alcoholism and addiction. Thank you for shining the light of truth. I have been to far too many funerals. Congrats on your 30.
I gave up drinking just before the pandemic started. I spent the lockdown alone, and I’m certain that if I had still been drinking during it, I would be dead. Those specific stories of loss are so tragic. The fire, my God. Thank you for this honest essay.
Not shining a light on dark things is how those things get darker and worse. I celebrate your recovery, and I know that writing and reading helps us all feel less lonely.
Thank you!
Stereotypes are generalizations. Your writing is specific. Good on these kids for asking, though. That can take guts. Hopefully, your responses help them see things a little differently. I know they did for me. Addiction is EVERYWHERE.
I find that young folks are far more courageous and weird and wonderful and invasive with their questions. Kids often ask me how much money I make as a writer. Adults NEVER ask that. I used to be evasive with my answer. But I realized that was rather dishonest. So now my answer is, "I've sold over 4 million books during my career. So I've done very well." Then I add the fact that very, very few writers sell enough books to be a full-time writer. I'd guess that fewer than 1,000 writers make a living at it. And it might be even fewer than that. I'm extremely lucky.
Real, Sherman!
Thank you!