Welcome to The Responsible Liar
Because making stuff up for a living doesn't have to be *quite* so hard.
Hello! My name is Anna Pitoniak, but if you found your way over here, you probably already know that.
Let me tell you about this newsletter by telling you a little about myself. These days, my full-time job is writing fiction. I’ve published three novels (The Futures, Necessary People, and Our American Friend) in the last five years. As I write this post, I’m putting the finishing touches on my fourth novel (title to come!) which will be published in fall 2023. Maybe you’ve read my books, maybe you haven’t—doesn’t matter, everyone is welcome to this party!
Before I was a full-time writer, I worked for many years in book publishing, here in New York City. I started off in subsidiary rights at Penguin, then moved to editorial at Random House, back in the olden days when they were separate companies. By the end of my time at Random House, after almost eight years, I was a senior editor working on both fiction and nonfiction.
I wrote my first two novels in the mornings before work. I’d wake up early, spend an hour or two immersed in a fictional world, then walk down through Central Park to the book-lined mecca of 1745 Broadway. I loved the freedom of writing, but I also loved the collaboration of editing, and for a long time, I couldn’t imagine choosing between the two. But, you know how life is. At a certain point you reach your limit and you realize oh, wow, I’m pretty tired. I’m pretty tired and I’m pretty stressed! Maybe I don’t love this feeling? Maybe I should change it?
And so, about four years ago, in fall 2018, I left my job to concentrate fully on writing. Was this terrifying? Yes. Was it the best decision I ever made? Also yes! It gave me the time and space to explore who I was as a writer. To try new ideas, to tackle bigger and more ambitious stories. (And also, honestly, to catch up on sleep.)
I wrote my third book, Our American Friend, right after leaving that job. I loved writing that book. I loved the chance to push myself. I loved that I got to live completely inside that Cold War world of Paris and Moscow. I never regretted taking this leap—but, at the same time, there were parts of my old job that I missed. That’s another thing life does: it reminds us that, even when a decision is the right decision, no situation is ever perfect.
And what I missed about being an editor was the chance to work with other writers. To talk to them about the hard stuff, the juicy stuff. Sometimes it was craft-focused: How to think about structure? How to dole out a character’s backstory? Sometimes it was tactical: How to come up with a pitch? How to work effectively with marketing and publicity? And often it went deeper than that, into the tender emotional parts of being an artist: How to stay sane in the run-up to publication? How to share your work with the world while also protecting your delicate flame of creativity?
Over time, I found ways to bring these conversations back into my life. Talking to my community of writer-and-artist-friends is one of my favorite things in the world. (Sometimes I feel like I write novels just to give myself the excuse to have really satisfying heart-to-hearts with other creative people.) And what I’ve learned is that we all—regardless of genre, regardless of age, regardless of track record—we all grapple with the same questions. I’m here to tell you that even the most blazingly successful writers can feel stuck, or fearful, or misunderstood. (Believe me, I saw this time and again at Random House!) There are always going to be hard parts to the creative life. No amount of material success can eliminate it. There’s no way around that! But I’ve also learned that there are ways to work with these feelings. There are ways to make the hard parts of the creative life a lot less hard.
That’s why I’m starting this newsletter. Eleven-plus years of writing fiction, eight-plus years of publishing experience, a lifetime of nonstop reading: though I’m still very much learning about this creative life, I do have some thoughts to share. (Oh, boy, is that an understatement.) For now I’ll be sending this newsletter weekly, every Friday morning. Whether you’re a writer, an artist, or a creative person of any kind, my goal is for these posts to be short, sweet, and helpful. To remind you that you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone—but also to remind you that it won’t always feel this way. And while I have ideas of what I’d like to talk about, I’m also looking for your input! I want this to be useful to the writers and creative folks out there. Send me a note and tell me what you’d like to see more of :)
I’ll leave you with a word about the name of this thing. Lately I’ve become an obsessive reader of the Paris Review interview series, which are both insightful and delightful. (See above: Ernest Hemingway wrote at a standing desk! Who knew?) During his Paris Review interview, the writer Richard Price had this encapsulation of what it means to write fiction. For his novel Clockers he did years and years of research. The research became an addiction for him, such that, eventually, the idea of just making stuff up felt impossible. It felt like an abdication of the truth.
Also, making stuff up is hard. It’s really, really, REALLY hard. It’s something out of nothing. It’s zero to one. It’s the big bang. You’re leaping into the unknown, and you have to find a way to work up the nerve. For Price, in the end, this was what the research gave him. Not the specific beats or details of the story, but the gumption. The guts. “In the beginning,” he says, “I had to learn enough about the texture of truth out there in order to have the confidence to make up lies, responsible lies.”
At the end of the day, that’s just what we’re doing here. We’re just making it up! But to make something up that feels resonant, that feels fresh, that feels true—that’s the work. That’s our responsibility to this fickle god of creativity.