…It’s All Lies.
Writers deal with plagiarism all the time, with the understanding that writing itself is a great act of borrowing repeatedly from a permutation of the single story that spans the globe. But every once in awhile, a personal story bizarrely loops and I hear it again — told to me after I’ve told it to someone else.
Former classmate, J., did it to me once at Mills, by naming one of her main characters the exact name of one of my minor characters. The name was so unusual that it couldn’t have been one of those random ideas sleeting through the universe. I mentioned it to her, and she reacted in horror, and changed the character’s name. It happens, in grad school, where you’re listening to and reading hundreds of stories a month, and everything is immersed and enmeshed in your literary brain. It happens. You speak up, people re-center, and we all go on. Something similar occurred when one found others in the class starting to sound like Dave Eggers — we simply wrote ‘derivative?’ in the margin of whichever paragraph has been pulled straight from his latest novel and hoped that THEY re-center, and go on to write something better.
It’s harder when you’re out of school.
I told a former classmate a story that was personal — before I knew how susceptible to mental bleed-over she was. It was years ago — and I’ve been much more careful of how I relate to her after she showed signs of wanting to inhabit my life — take my guy — and otherwise step into my still inhabited mary janes. She wrote me a letter recently, and told me that story — just about word-for-word.
My story. My life. My truth. And for the life of me, I don’t know how to deal with it.
On one hand, I think, “Okay. It’s real, on my end. I know where the bodies are buried — literally.” Or at least what’s left of them. There is nothing provable in E’s story — the story I told her was about what I considered to be a national disaster, so many people could claim a piece of it as their own particular truth. I know she can’t, but really, does it matter? I know what I know.
On the other hand, shouldn’t I say something to her… so she can have a little reality check? At least within her own mind to take a breath and go, “Oh, wait…” But, will she have a reality check? Or will it be a breath of air on a house of cards that I should be trying to make fall?
I’m struggling with the idea of being a public and private person. This is twice now that things I’ve just said to people in passing have either been reprinted — on other people’s blogs!!! — or retold. It’s freaking me out. Am I endangering my family and friends, telling little stories of things that are of no particular consequence to me, but really happened? I feel like I need to drop all but the people I know for sure I can trust, and stop speaking to virtual strangers — because someday this will come back to haunt me, and I’ll be as exposed as a peeled egg. Part of me thinks I’m overreacting, but in this Reality TV world, how else do I deal with someone who tries to get their fifteen minutes of fame from my life?
Unhappy, unhappy, unhappy.
That’s… something.
I would suggest that it’s her that needs the psychologist.
As for what to do – think about what is most likely to set your mind at rest about it and do that.
Maybe write her a letter – you don’t have to send it. Might be good to get your thoughts out anyway. Which I guess you were doing here.
That’s… something.I would suggest that it’s her that needs the psychologist.As for what to do – think about what is most likely to set your mind at rest about it and do that.Maybe write her a letter – you don’t have to send it. Might be good to get your thoughts out anyway. Which I guess you were doing here.
That’s… something.
I would suggest that it’s her that needs the psychologist.
As for what to do – think about what is most likely to set your mind at rest about it and do that.
Maybe write her a letter – you don’t have to send it. Might be good to get your thoughts out anyway. Which I guess you were doing here.
I’m grateful you said something. I think I need our resident psychologist on this one. It is REALLY ODD. I keep trying to figure out if I was not supposed to notice — or was supposed to react, or –???
And it wasn’t even something that could be…explained away. It was very specific: a childhood friend of MINE died in a particular way, which was unexpected and traumatic, specifically because we had drifted apart after I went to college and she did not. Suddenly E. also has a friend — who was a childhood friend from whom she drifted at a specific age, who even has the selfsame name — who dies in the exact same way? I don’t think that’s the same as just telling an incident that someone has told you and not remembering if it happened to you or someone else. There’s being confused about a funny story, and then there’s …this. And I’m not sure what this is…
I’m grateful you said something. I think I need our resident psychologist on this one. It is REALLY ODD. I keep trying to figure out if I was not supposed to notice — or was supposed to react, or –??? And it wasn’t even something that could be…explained away. It was very specific: a childhood friend of MINE died in a particular way, which was unexpected and traumatic, specifically because we had drifted apart after I went to college and she did not. Suddenly E. also has a friend — who was a childhood friend from whom she drifted at a specific age, who even has the selfsame name — who dies in the exact same way? I don’t think that’s the same as just telling an incident that someone has told you and not remembering if it happened to you or someone else. There’s being confused about a funny story, and then there’s …this. And I’m not sure what this is…
I’m grateful you said something. I think I need our resident psychologist on this one. It is REALLY ODD. I keep trying to figure out if I was not supposed to notice — or was supposed to react, or –???
And it wasn’t even something that could be…explained away. It was very specific: a childhood friend of MINE died in a particular way, which was unexpected and traumatic, specifically because we had drifted apart after I went to college and she did not. Suddenly E. also has a friend — who was a childhood friend from whom she drifted at a specific age, who even has the selfsame name — who dies in the exact same way? I don’t think that’s the same as just telling an incident that someone has told you and not remembering if it happened to you or someone else. There’s being confused about a funny story, and then there’s …this. And I’m not sure what this is…
Now that’s a bit odd. To receive the story back in a letter as well? That means it had to be written down and probably read back before it was posted.
I can see how it happens though, to some extent. I still remember the shame of catching myself doing it when I was a kid – and hope I haven’t done it since. I didn’t say anything and neither did the person who’s story I told back to them – I wish I had have done, as I could have laughed it off.
And then, last week, I saw that someone had robbed a bit from my blog. Not in a plagiarism way or anything to get het up about (I’m just going to change the bit that was taken), but it felt, well, creepy.
All of which is no use to you whatsoever! Just sharing!
Now that’s a bit odd. To receive the story back in a letter as well? That means it had to be written down and probably read back before it was posted.I can see how it happens though, to some extent. I still remember the shame of catching myself doing it when I was a kid – and hope I haven’t done it since. I didn’t say anything and neither did the person who’s story I told back to them – I wish I had have done, as I could have laughed it off.And then, last week, I saw that someone had robbed a bit from my blog. Not in a plagiarism way or anything to get het up about (I’m just going to change the bit that was taken), but it felt, well, creepy.All of which is no use to you whatsoever! Just sharing!
Now that’s a bit odd. To receive the story back in a letter as well? That means it had to be written down and probably read back before it was posted.
I can see how it happens though, to some extent. I still remember the shame of catching myself doing it when I was a kid – and hope I haven’t done it since. I didn’t say anything and neither did the person who’s story I told back to them – I wish I had have done, as I could have laughed it off.
And then, last week, I saw that someone had robbed a bit from my blog. Not in a plagiarism way or anything to get het up about (I’m just going to change the bit that was taken), but it felt, well, creepy.
All of which is no use to you whatsoever! Just sharing!