Column: Making it in Missoula
Small-Town Anonymity: Can It Exist?
By Little Sis, 10-03-06
Some of you may be wondering, where is Big Sis and her more intelligent, funnier writing? Well, she had things to do, so I took over. Don't worry, she'll be writing next week. Plus, I've got some things to get off my chest.The challenge to writing an anonymous column about small-town adventures: everyone eventually sees through your pen name.
This weekend, I discovered my cover had been blown. Several times.
I was having an ideal weekend. I strolled through the Farmers’ Market on Saturday morning, enjoying some me-time and stopping to chat with friends on my way to the Harvest Fest. As I was unlocking my bike—illegally locked to the parking meter, since there were more bikes parked than cars—the Cuz burst out of the Break where he was diligently writing papers up until that point. “Hey, who’s Paddler Dude A and who’s Paddler Dude B? I bet I know.” Dammit.
As I sat down next to a girlfriend at the Angler to hear David James Duncan read, she asked me to send her a link to the week’s column because she couldn’t find it. Of course the room was full of people I knew, and she doesn’t speak softly. Thank goodness I’m invisible in comparison to the state’s hero-writer. Anyone who was listening forgot as Duncan began speaking. Californians have Hollywood stars. Montanans have David James Duncan, and are rightfully a hell of a lot prouder of it.
At a potluck that night, I’d just arrived and was in that awkward process of juggling my wine glass and loading my plate (while trying not to appear like I was being greedy in comparison to the wimpy salad I had brought; I couldn’t find a bigger bowl to put it in). My friend, a very well-respected journalist in town, cornered me in my vulnerable state. “So, you’re a columnist now, huh?” My intelligent, throw-him-off-track response: “How does everyone know?!” As I complained, he pragmatically pointed out, “Well, you could start denying it.”
The problem here is that I’m an awful liar. I try to get this blank look on my face to preserve my anonymity as Little Sis, but I think I just come off as guilty.
This is the best part. Late night at the Rhino, I heard someone yelling, “Little Sis!” I refused to turn around, but alarm bells went off because I didn’t recognize the voice at all. The drunken yelling persisted, so I finally turned on the sneaky pretext of looking for someone. Of course this didn’t work, because I can’t control my expressions at all. A guy I’d never seen before in my life looked me straight in the eye and squawked triumphantly, “New West’s Little Sis!”
I had no idea who this guy was, and didn’t recognize anyone he was with. I think I gave myself up when I dumbly asked, “Who the hell are you?” I was disturbed, so didn’t take my friend’s advice on denial from earlier that evening. Even in a small town, how would someone I didn’t even know recognize me as the anonymous pen name? The kid just grinned and disappeared into the Saturday night crowd.
I discussed it the next morning over Old Post brunch with my housemate, but as a friend approached, she abruptly cut off the conversation, saying he didn’t know I wrote the column. He scoffed and revealed he’d figured it out after the second posting.
Okay.
Many of you may be wondering, so what? Who cares if your readers know who you are in the real world?
The answer is this: my friends are even now reading this and looking for themselves, thinly-veiled by changed names and sardonic phrasing. My anonymity ensured theirs, but the very small-town connections about which I write have blown all of our covers. I know some people look for themselves proudly, and hope that they’ll make it in this week or next week. Some friends think of it as a game, like the Cuz, trying to figure out who’s who. But many people would rather find their situation mirrored by a faceless character than be the actual face. So those of you who know these sisters personally, let’s keep a few secrets, huh?
Writers write their lives. In writing non-fiction, we chose anonymity to keep from invading anyone else’s life. This was probably naive, because gossip spreads fast in a small town where your housemate’s boyfriend lives with your co-worker.
So here’s the question of the week, then. How do I write an “anonymous” column when some readers know who I am (even if I have no idea who they are, but they can pick me out of a crowd in a downtown bar)? My subjects are limited at that point. Maybe the answer is that those of you who still don’t know who I am—apparently this is a smaller pool than I thought—should send me some situations of your own you’d like to see written. My email is littlesis@newwest.net. Bring ‘em on.
Quote of the week:
(I hate USC, and I watch the games only to see them lose horribly at some point and take satisfaction from it. I know hate is a strong word, but every time I see that damn Trojan I get angry. College sports are pretty volatile.)
Me: “The SC defensive line is huge.”
Friend: “Yeah, they feed ‘em minorities there.”
[End of article]
No clue on how to stay anonymous, but they nailed how to keep your subjects happy in this earlier story:
“If you’re going to describe living people, always describe them as smart and good looking.” That’s Fred Haefele’s advice for writers of creative non-fiction.Comment By Brodie Farquhar, 10-03-06
I agree with Matt and with Fred Haefele's advice. You need a much, much bigger town (New York City?) to pull off an anonymous column. After a while, it becomes the worst-kept-secret and merely looks like an affectation.
Be bold, be brave and come out of the nom de plume closet. Fess up and be you. You'll take some lumps (all good columnists do), but you'll have more impact if people know who you are and have a chance to present you with bouquets and the occasional brickbat.
Sticking with the anonymous routine simply encourages anyone you hack off to expose the real you. Might as well get it over.
Yes, it's a very small pool...
I know you don't know me, but if I know who the two of you are, everybody knows. I knew weeks ago, in fact.
There is no way, make that absolutely no way the two of you can remain anonymous in Missoula short of locking yourselves in your rooms and composing columns of pure fiction... Just get used to it - tell-all ers always get outed.
You might have been able to do an anonymous column if you had disguised yourself - say as a 6 foot blonde lawyer from New Jersey or whatever; and all the stories instead of being about you, were about a series of different people you know, next door neighbor, running partner, cool gal you met at the library, etc. who happened to tell you their stories as a friend. I guess you could still try that for the stories but can't save being anonymous in real life now.
Comment By Ann, 10-03-06You still might have had to change every 2nd or 3rd circumstantial detail not essential to the story (paddlers become climbers, etc.) to throw people off trying to figure it out that might recognize some of the detail and then begin to piece together other clues.
If talking about Missoula and linking to places wasn't important, you could have pretended it was Boulder.
Those are good pieces of advice, Ann. And I think telling my friends' stories will come in the future as well. It would be hard ot base it in another town; so much of the fun comes from people knowing it's Missoula and attaching a culture scene to the writing.
Brodie: I think I'm being pretty brave right now with the themes of my writing. A pen name helps for my own peace of mind when some commenters get out of hand with insults instead of bouquets. But thank you for the enouragement.
Mysterious Stranger: I'm still creeped out.
Take heart, Little Sis. I read this column, was at the Harvest Fest, and was even at the David James Duncan reading and I have absolutely no clue who you are. Then again, I read Singer's blog and even bought a t-shirt from him, and still I wouldn't know him if he walked up and stabbed me in the eye with a stick.
Comment By Aaron, 10-03-06I don't know any of you... Well, I take it back, I probably do - it is a small town. Regardless, this was a well written and entertaining article and I look forward to more from Little Sis. I have no need to figure out who you are but, do the climbers a favor and, please, don't ever lump us in with the boaters - we don't just sit on our butts. We have to work for our thrills. (Oh, I see the feathers ruffled as the sent of testosterone homicidally tickles the air. I can hear them now – “knuckle dragger!” “pin head!” – Oops, my bad, wrong season. He, he) Now, there's something to write about...
Comment By Little Sis, 10-04-06Thanks, Aaron and Chris, for that different perspective. And for the idea of a later column, Aaron. You're not kidding about cross-sport rivalry.
Comment By Big Sis, 10-04-06Sigh. It was too good to be true...from the beginning. Way to face the "anonymous" issue head-on.
I think we just keep our pen names and post our pictures right next to them, Little Sis. Ya know--hide in plain view?
Thanks for taking over this week. You rock.
Now you owe me two beers - and possibly a shot.
Write something interesting and I'll owe you one.
I personally don't care who you are at all--I just like reading your columns . . . both sisters. Stay tough and brave!
Comment By Q. Random, 10-06-06A poem for the Revelation Sisters
(So far as I know, I haven't a clue who either of you might be. I just enjoy your stories and am amused by your delightfully unselfconscious, until now, exploration of the downtown Missoula dating scene. I wish your anonimity had been preserved just a bit longer, you hadn't even caught your stride. Enjoy the poem. It's not really about you, how could it be? It's written by a fictional charcter about another fictinal character, who resembled you in a waking dream.)
Friday October 6, 2006
sweet little innocent daddy's loving girl
learns to smile
twists him around her finger for safe keeping
with her first forray into progressive disclosure
peek-a-boo
gonna be a heartbreaker one day
getting a jump on it
kissing boys on the playground
they run away
but not too fast
wild cherry lips
one day they'll crave in dreams
and awake with a hunger for you
not remembering why or even who
hide and seek
sweet sixteen it used to be
precious or precocious little thing
kissing girls at slumber parties
for practice
waiting for the boys to grow up
and play the games too
spin the bottle
emergant brilliance
dazzled by the power of discrete indiscretion
free association
drawn to the blinding flash of her own lust
hiding from herself
somehow sweeter and more innocent
than she seems
fuck and tell
--
© 2006 Q. Random
(Reprinted here with permission of the author.)
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