I was recently reading in the September issue of The Writer’s Chronicle an interview with the redoubtable John Casey (Spartina, Compass Rose).  The whole exchange is worth a close reading, but two moments really rose as necessary, but not easy, revelations.

One, which comes later in the interview, is his response to a question about whether teaching interferes with writing.  Casey is emphatic on this point: he writes two hundred pages a year, and he adds, “A little teaching wouldn’t interfere with anyone’s productivity.”  There you have it, and I agree, though no doubt there’s room for dispute about how much is “a little” and how much too much, as well as whether certain kinds of courses require more than a little work and emotional time.  This is a long-debated topic; may the jousts continue.

The other comment that rang my bell, perhaps “oft thought but ne’er so well expressed,” is that “Honesty by itself won’t get you very far.”  He recommends, alongside that honesty, “low vaudeville cunning.”  He follows that radiant phrase with only “timing, and certain kinds of polish.”  I suspect most teachers of fiction writing know what he means.  Honesty of intent, yes, but not complete openness or candor.  Selection, juxtaposition, calculation for effect.  You want to say and imply some things that will pass like a gust of wind but reappear in the memory when triggered by other details.  You want your rhythms and  the dynamic of specific and general, scene and summary to be canny and orchestrated in concert with the story’s intended tensions and revelations.  And there’s an element of play involved.  Even behind Vermeer, isn’t there a little of Pollock?

Casey says that these two facets of storytelling can’t quite be taught, though the willing and quick student can be provided with insight about timing and polish.  But the interview is far better than any summary, so I’ll just recommend it and hush.