WRITING

“No One Cares About Your Life Story”

If this is true, should we all just STFU about ourselves?

A few weeks ago, I wrote a story about critiques. Specifically, who and what to believe when you put yourself out there and the response to your blood, sweat, and tears is mixed, and often, confusing. Here it is:

I was bemoaning, okay, whining, about the fact that my screenplay, The Month We Fell Apart has yet to find a home, as in a production company. I’ve come close, but thus far, it’s still sitting on my desktop waiting for a buyer.

As many of my readers and friends here are aware, this is a very personal story based on an episode in my life when my parents and I were diagnosed with cancer at the same time. Lung for them and breast for me. Here is the pitch, or as it’s referred to in the industry, the logline:

A strong-willed woman’s rocky relationship with her parents takes a revelatory turn when all three receive a life-altering diagnosis.

Now, I had people who believed in this project and still do, including a director and my former rep. I just haven’t been hit by the stroke of luck that takes a writer from an unknown schlub to a hot commodity.

You know, like many of the writers here.

And yes, dear hearts, much of “it” is luck. Like having connections with heft, individuals who can help introduce you to the players who greenlight projects. People with dough.

After I published the story, I received an email from another writer here, someone who I thought was a friend. But, the gist of her message threw me for a loop and I’m still grappling with it.

“No one cares about your life story.”

Ouch. Don’t hold back here, right? Let me make something clear: TMWFA isn’t my life story. It’s about an episode in my life that I believe other people might relate to, and may even find, life-affirming.

As clearly stated, TMWFA is about a woman’s relationship with her parents and how it evolves once they’re all diagnosed with cancer. She sees these two people, with whom she’s had a rather contentious relationship, in an entirely different light. In short, she’s blown away by their courage in facing a death sentence and, with the help of her sister, is present for them in a way she’d never been before.

Moreover, it’s about a secret. A traumatizing incident between her parents, that she and her brother witnessed, and that has haunted the woman since childhood. But, I won’t divulge that.

I realize that I’m a nobody. But, to be told outright that no one would give a flying fuck about my experience jolted me.

And, to the person who told me this, I hold no rancor toward you. But, I realize you are the farthest thing from a “friend.” I let your frequent veiled barbs slide off my back because you’ve alienated so many people here that I tried to have empathy for you. In return, I received a toxic stream of hurtful “suggestions.”

Yes. I suppose that when one considers the plethora of utter shit that gets produced every year, to the delight of legions of knuckleheads, I suppose the writer is correct. Why would anyone give a damn what happened to me, when they could be watching Mother Schmuckers or some Marvel blockbuster?

But, along with psychological thrillers and horror movies, smart comedies, and sexy noir, I happen to enjoy real stories about real people. Because life fucks with us and seeing how others deal with sickness, poverty, addiction toxic relationships and estrangement fascinates me.

In the past, I’ve likened TMWFA to August: Osage County, but with Jews. (Well, I thought it was funny.) Anyway, I enjoyed that film and thought the script by Tracy Letts was whip-smart. Darkly comic, and relatable.

In short, August is about a family in peril largely due to their own fuck-ups. Is that no longer worthy of sharing? What about the comedic elements? Unless I’m mistaken, people need a reason to laugh more than ever before. I sure as hell do.

Admittedly, TMWFA is a big departure from much of my other work, which includes a comedy, two psychological thrillers, and a fantasy/love story, along with four original TV pilots. And, I’ve never said it was the most stellar piece of work since The Caine Mutiny, but it’s the best thing that I’ve ever written. And I take pride in the fact that I held nothing back.

And the secret? I thought long and hard about divulging what happened between my parents and how it affected my (estranged) brother and I, especially. But, in the end, I couldn’t bury it in a fabrication.

Considering the way things are going here on Medium, perhaps that individual was correct in her assessment of my work. Supposedly, the personal essay is not where it’s at, here, and we should be writing more articles of value. Of worth. Because hey, we may earn fifty bucks in one month instead of forty-five.

And, is “worth” not subjective?

But, again, I’m fascinated by the machinations of the human mind, in how we deal with trauma and why some people are capable of moving on from it, and others, well, are hobbled their entire lives.

I don’t care to read about politics because I no longer give a shit, nor am I interested in history particularly, or cryptocurrency, or the latest, most lucrative side hustle.

When I think about all the negativity my former “friend” swathed me in, I have to wonder why I put up with it. That’s not me, as putting up with crap isn’t in my makeup. But, again, I felt for her. Yes. I feel for people who blather on about how talented they are, but don’t realize how pitiful that makes them appear.

Now, again, I’m not overly sensitive, but this person’s comments crossed the line, in my opinion. How’s this for “helpful?”

“I have been trying to figure out why you can’t let this story go and simply write another one. I now know.

You want your life story told because it affirms your existence. Unfortunately, while you may think it’s good drama, many have already seen so much drama in the world, it’s not what they want now. The world has changed. Fashions come and go. This is not the story for now.”

Read that again. It “affirms my existence.” That couldn’t be further from the truth. I exist because my parents engaged in intercourse and I popped out of my mother’s womb nine months later. That’s all the affirmation I need.

My hackles are up just rereading this toxic drip.

I wrote this story because I’d like your opinion. Do you agree with the aforementioned former friend? Or do you believe that your life experiences are worthy of sharing?

What I find interesting is, this same person has divulged her personal history in more stories than I can count. Ad nauseam, in fact. Am I to believe that she is more interesting than I am? Or just chalk it up to a lot of hot air from someone who doesn’t think before she bleats? Who doesn’t know or understand how to sustain healthy relationships?

I don’t know, but again, I welcome your thoughts. Finally, I’ll end with her coup de grâce, to someone who has been writing screenplays for over twenty years, and what’s more, has been produced:

“If you want to be a scriptwriter, I suggest you begin to write lots and lots of scripts. One of them will make it. This one clearly isn’t going to.”

© Sherry McGuinn, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

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Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.