The RHP team sat down with David Ebenbach, author of Possible Happiness, to chat about fiction, humor, and the writing process.
We’ve all heard the advice that authors should “write what they know.” But fiction emerges from imagination and creation of new worlds. Do you feel a tension between what you’ve experienced and what lives only in your mind?
This question was a big one for me in the writing of Possible Happiness; on the one hand, this is definitely the most autobiographical novel I’ve ever written, with a protagonist who’s a lot like me and who’s spending his teen years coming of age in the same place and time that I did (Philly in the late 80s), and the character spends the book going through a lot of all-too-familiar dramatic emotional experiences. On the other hand, almost none of this book actually happened, or at least not in this way, or with these exact people, or in this order, and so on.
Let me explain. I started working on this book by thinking about what my teen years were actually like and writing down what the major events were. So that was the foundation. But I was aware from the very beginning that I was going to need to make major, fundamental, continuous changes to this raw material to make it work as a novel. Life, after all, has too many people in it, and in the real world things happen in chaotic and plotless and often meaningless ways. Life therefore isn’t the best material for fiction—unless you transform it, do whatever you need to do in order to make it work. So I changed people, events, timing, feelings, consequences. Everything.
And yet still—the novel is kind of true all the same. In fact, that’s exactly why I changed and falsified so much: to make it true.
What’s the role of humor in Possible Happiness?
I think humor is a very serious thing. I didn’t think so when I was just starting out as a writer, when I was very concerned about being taken seriously, and so a lot of my early work is a bit humorless, which I can now see made it more one-dimensional than it had to be. But I now see that humor is crucial to fiction. It’s crucial in part because it’s a big part of life, not to mention a significant source of pleasure and meaning in my own experience. It’s also crucial because, as the writer Dylan Krider once observed, humor intensifies surrounding emotions. He said, in a lecture I once heard, something like, “If you want to make a story sad, make it funny. If you want to make it scary, make it funny.” I guess it’s like adding salt to a recipe; you add humor to make everything else more vivid. You probably also do it because it’s funny.
How long did it take you to write your book? How many revisions has it undergone so far?
Oh, boy. I started writing this book in 2018. So that’s six years ago! And—*consults notes*—the final version of the novel is apparently version #22. Though that doesn’t mean that I wrote twenty-two full drafts of the novel—not at all. I just like to create a new draft (with a new number) whenever I make any kind of significant change, even if it’s just to a single chapter or scene. So that number means that there were twenty-two times when I made a big-enough change to save the document as a new draft. But the book certainly did go through a lot of revision. Characters were dropped altogether, events rewritten or replaced, threads added. Scenes and sentences interrogated like murder suspects. It’s part of the deal. I passionately hate revision, but I do it because the book needs it, and my job is to make sure the book gets what it needs.
Do you belong to any writing groups or communities, either online or offline?
Yes! I wouldn’t be any kind of writer at all without community. For starters, I am buoyed every day by the positivity and energy of my online communities on various social media platforms. (I’m not kidding! I know people say terrible things about social media, but I get a lot of positivity from my connections there.) But I also depend on feedback and support from the more focused writing group I’m in. We meet about once a month to share prose, and the people in the group—Angie Chuang, Melanie McCabe, Emily Mitchell, and David Taylor—are not only wonderful writers (go check out their books if you don’t believe me—or even if you do believe me!), but also incredibly wise readers with excellent advice, and lovely human beings who help me stay at it when I’m thrown off by doubt. Without them, Possible Happiness probably wouldn’t exist, and, even if it did, I bet it wouldn’t be worth reading.
What’s your favorite joke?
Do you know the one about the duck who goes into a bar to ask if they have any grapes? I love that one. That duck is so persistent! Do ducks even eat grapes? The first time I heard the joke, I laughed off and on for several hours. I won’t bother you by retelling it here, though, because it’s long and not too many other folks think it’s quite as funny as I do. But, if you’re interested, you can find a retelling of the joke in my short story “Out of Grapes,” which is in my collection The Guy We Didn’t Invite to the Orgy and other stories (which, maybe it goes without saying, is not a YA book). And anyway I’m a big believer in holding tight to a joke that you love, even if (especially if) you love it more than anyone else does. And maybe, now that I think of it, that advice applies to a lot more than just jokes.
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