Live in the Layers

And not only two of them, as some suggest.

When Philip Gerard defined the fourth genre in his seminal book, Creative Nonfiction: Researching and Crafting Stories from Real Life, he said that it contains two layers. One is an apparent subject and the other is a deeper subject. This can be thought of as text and subtext or even point and counterpoint.

The apparent subject of Charles Frazier's Varina, for example, is a biography of Jefferson Davis's wife. The deeper subject, or subtext, is an attempt to understand how a relatively small percentage of owning class persuaded the whole of the South to cling to slavery, at great expense and when an imminent war could not be won. These elite were both slaveholding southerners as well as northerners who benefitted from the work of enslaved people.

Judy Blunt's essay "Breaking Clean" is apparently and textually about leaving a constrictive life as a ranch wife in eastern Montana. More deeply and subtextually, it is about self-actualization.

Alice Walker’s The Color Purple is about an African-American girl who is writing letters to God about her rural, isolated life. More deeply, it breaks silence about domestic and sexual violence.

In most any novel we could find two main currents that braid together into a narrative.

When Gerard suggested two layers, I believe that he was thinking of creative nonfiction as opposed to journalism. Journalism has one layer, the text.

Rather than two layers, however, the best nonfiction contains multiples.

Terry Tempest Williams's Refuge is a great example. It is about 1) breast cancer; and also about 2) the landscape of Utah, 3) family, 4) the Mormon religion, 5) birds, and 6) the Great Salt Lake. Multiple layers, if tightly controlled, add depth and richness to a book.

As Stanley Kunitz wrote in his wonderful poem, "The Layers"—

"Live in the layers,

not in the litter."

Layers in a work, however, have to be pertinent to its driving line. When a writer starts talking about chasing rabbits, well, they are chasing rabbits.

Once a student turned in to me an essay that proved her ability to render a scene. She had an artist’s eye and was quick to notice the way a shadow fell. In the wideness of this essay she pulled up myriad memories from childhood to adulthood, from dogs to her mom to superstores to adult care facilities to gardens to art to basketball to ponies. Often there was no link between dogs and nursing homes or her mom and art. It was all too much.

Layering is fine if the reader knows what the text is and what the subtext is, and if each layer helps drive the narrative forward.

To fix an essay with too many layers, clarify the driving line and remove some of the minor, least relevant layers.

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Do the hard work > work with love > love what you do.

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I Need Your Help With a Decision

My friend, I have an important question to ask you. When I first starting publishing this newsletter for writers, I decided to send you two posts a week, one on Tuesday and the other on Thursday. The subject of writing consumes me, and I can easily and lovingly continue to do that.

However, because I have a lot of writers in my community of friends, and because many of them write Substacks, I have been receiving a great many newsletters in my inbox. Some weeks I don’t have time to read and respond to all of them. As Substack gains in popularity, I believe this trend will continue.

Today it occurred to me that you may be similarly challenged, and I would never want this newsletter to be a burden. I mean it to be a little square of dark chocolate that gives you a new idea or teaches you something or tells you about something you’re glad to know about.

Would you please take a moment and respond to this simple poll? The question is, Are two Rhizospheres a week too much for your busy life?

Please be honest. I won’t see how you voted, and if you’re not happy, I’m not happy.

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Three Courses are Available This Fall

I’m offering three courses this fall. The most important of these is my American Nature Writing Masterclass, which starts on Oct. 9 and convenes Monday evenings 7-9 Eastern US Time through Jan. 15. It has a killer syllabus and some fine guest speakers. It costs $600.

The course people love the most is Magical Craft of Creative Nonfiction 1.0, and that one starts Nov. 1 and convenes for 6 weeks, 7-9 pm Eastern US Time on Wednesday evenings. It costs $500. It is intense and action-packed. You get tons of information and opportunity and inspiration in a short amount of time. This is probably the last time I’m offering this class as a stand-alone course. Even if you can’t sign up this fall, I’ll offer it again, but in a much different package.

The third is Beginning Memoir, at lunch on Mondays 11-12 Eastern US Time. This one is for those eager to Write Your Own Story. The cost is $225. This course contains instruction and readings and handouts, but mostly it’s a weekly space for you to interact with your own material.

There’s plenty of information on my website and a place to register. If you don't like fooling with credit cards online, you’re welcome to register by email and post a check; and if you need to make payments, I’m good with that, of course.

Part of a sign I saw recently at a meatseller’s booth at the Athens, Georgia farmer’s market.

Writing Prompt

Go back to the last thing you wrote. Work the above three words (in the image) into your text.