To Write Fiction or Nonfiction, Should That Be the Question?

by Victoria Fortune

For years now, I’ve been considering applying to MFA programs, but I’ve dragged my feet. My reasons are numerous—familial duties, financial considerations, indecision about what path to take—most of which are rationalizations. However, one legitimate factor that has been holding me back is difficulty choosing between fiction and nonfiction.

I realize many writers write nonfiction or fiction exclusively, but many enjoy writing both. In fact, fiction writers, unless they write popular genre fiction, almost have to write both if they hope to make a living. So why does every MFA program make writers choose one or the other? I have focused primarily on fiction the past few years, but as I’ve been writing for this blog, I’ve realized how much I’m drawn to nonfiction as well.

When I wrote my last post back in June, I was gearing up to join Camp Nanowrimo and spend July cranking out the middle of my novel. However, around that same time, I noticed an offering at Grub Street for an online course advertised as a survey of various genres of creative nonfiction. One of my goals for the year was to take a nonfiction class, as well as an online class, so this seemed like a good opportunity. I signed up somewhat guiltily, though, knowing I wouldn’t have time for Camp Nanowrimo. I told myself I’d still work on my novel, and I hoped the class would move me closer toward a decision about MFA programs.

Each week of Intro to Creative Nonfiction, taught by E.B. Bartels, entailed a well-chosen, representative sampling of readings from the genre, as well as a writing assignment. The class was excellent but far more time-consuming than I expected (as was life in general), and I did not make the progress on my novel that I’d hoped. I can’t say I am any closer to choosing between fiction and nonfiction, either. On the contrary, I feel even more strongly drawn to writing both, and more importantly, to exploring the crossing of lines and blending of genres.

I don’t advocate the sort of blending that occurs in fake news (the actual kind, not Trump’s  definition) in which fiction is presented as fact. Rather, I admire the sort that Nabakov employs in his memoir, Speak, Memory, when he describes the arrival of his childhood governess. He deftly cues the reader that he is about to shift from fact to fiction informed by some scant facts, bolstered by historical research and fleshed out by vivid imagination: “I was not there to greet her,” he tells the reader, “but I do so now, as I imagine what she saw and felt at that last stage of her fabulous and ill-timed journey.” He proceeds to paint such a striking scene that it is easy to forget he wasn’t there.

One of the standard assignment options in the class was to emulate a technique from one of the week’s readings. Employing Nabakov’s technique actually helped me figure out how to approach some of the scenes in my novel that have been giving me the hardest time. So, I did make progress on my novel after all, by focusing on nonfiction.

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