Unanswered Prayers: Truman Capote and The Case Against Perfectionism

By Mary Lynn Cloghesy and Jason Schembri

---

Truman Capote is arguably one of the great American writers of the modern age. Sixty years ago, he penned his masterpiece, In Cold Blood, one of the first and best examples of a true crime novel. In fact, he established a new genre based on the book, which solidified his position among the New York literati, building on his earlier success in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. At the time, Norman Mailer called him, “the most perfect writer of my generation.” 

Imagine the pressure to follow-up… and the sense of triumph he must have felt when he surpassed all expectations. Once he’d achieved both fame and fortune through his meticulously researched account of the murder of the Clutter family, Capote set his sights even higher. He claimed his new manuscript, Answered Prayers, would “utilize all his skills,” and be the culmination of his stylistic innovations, boasting, “Oh, how easy it’ll be by comparison!” because “It’s all in my head.” 

He never finished it. Or any other major work. In fact, he suffered both personally and professionally. So, what happened? Let’s engage in our own amateur investigation, and consider the factors that led to this unfortunate outcome. By unearthing clues, we can not only bring to light the circumstances and psychological impairment that caused Capote’s anti-climax, but also prepare ourselves to tackle the same issue, which tends to affect artists in alarming numbers: perfectionism. 

As with any other case study, we need to set some parameters. Let’s begin by considering what “perfection” means. Mirriam-Webster defines it as “being entirely without fault or defect: flawless.” If we accept this as tenable, we can refine it by adding in the suffix “ism,” which is “a manner of action or behavior characteristic of a (specific) person or thing.” (fun fact: Mirriam-Webster also suggests it can be an abnormal behaviour) Now, let’s break this concept down even further. In Christopher Bergland’s article, “Is the Perfectionism Plague Taking a Psychological Toll?,” he refers to a long-term study that differentiates three aspects of perfectionism: 

1. Self-oriented perfectionism: imposing an irrational desire to be perfect on oneself.

2. Other-oriented perfectionism: placing unrealistic standards of perfection on others.

3. Socially-prescribed perfectionism: perceiving excessive expectations of perfection from others.

While the study focused on college students, we can apply the same approach to Capote. Did he suffer from one or more of these afflictions? If so, how did they become author interrupters? Let’s begin.

Self-oriented perfectionism: In his titular biography, Capote, author Gerald Clarke states that there’s a difference between “those who write, and [those who] write but can’t finish the job to their satisfaction.” Specially, Clark said “Capote set himself the highest standards, and he knew when he wasn’t achieving them.” What we can glean from this is that Capote intended to finish his book—and engaged in the act of writing—but was derailed by his own inflated expectations. He considered himself a genius, and said as much. 

In her book Bird by Bird, author Anne Lamott clarifies this painful and debilitating condition, stating, “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor; the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft (SFD).” In an article in The New Yorker (“Golden Boy”), Capote himself remarked “when thinking about how good ‘the book’ might be, I can hardly breathe,” providing further evidence as to his disposition. 

Clearly, this type of self-aggrandizement is to be avoided at all costs. But that’s not all. There’s a flip-side. He also suffered from a heartbreaking lack of confidence. While this may seem contradictory, it’s the extreme of his perfectionism, an internal split that exposed his bravado for what it was: a mask that he wore to hide his feelings of inadequacy. In an interview in 1985, Capote said, “It's a very excruciating life, facing that blank piece of paper every day, and having to reach up somewhere into the clouds and bring something down out of them.” 

Is it any surprise then that his words, as eloquent as they may have been, never fully took shape within the narrative? Let’s broaden the scope now, and consider his thoughts about others. 

Other-oriented perfectionism: Author and psychologist, William Todd Schultz, addresses Capote’s approach to others in his biography, Tiny Terror: Why Truman Capote (Almost) Wrote Answered Prayers. He created a psychological portrait of the author that suggested his dark childhood led to what Schultz called dual life-scripts, explaining that on one hand, Capote was anxious, hypersensitive, and fatalistic, yet on the other, would present himself as bulletproof, mean-spirited, and bent on revenge. 

Throughout his career, he initiated feuds with other famous authors, notably when they received praise that he felt was undeserved. His perfectionist tendencies caused him to lash out. Consider this quote directed toward Jack Kerouac in 1959, “None of these people have anything interesting to say, and none of them can write, not even Mr. Kerouac. What they do isn’t writing at all — it’s typing.” He was referring to his defining work, On the Road.   

To Capote, others were inherently flawed, and neither foe nor friend could be trusted. Yet, he became obsessed with cultivating connections among the jet set, because he wanted to be considered “worthy” of them. In 1966, he hosted a legendary Black and White Ball in New York, calling it an “all-time spectacular present” to himself. The language itself exposes his bias: “all-time” and “spectacular,” are both superlatives. He dangled invitations for months among his peers, deciding who was “in” and “out,” a malicious manifestation of his perfectionism. 

Based on his interviews, Capote seemed perpetually disappointed in himself and others. As such, Answered Prayers not only became increasingly corrosive to his relationships, reflecting his disillusionment with high-society, but also self-destructive as he spiraled into alcohol and substance abuse. By 1977, he ceased work on his magnum opus due to a “creative crisis and a personal one.” 

Could this have been avoided if he’d eased his expectations? Could he have garnered support rather than sowed derision? Perhaps. Let’s look for clues as to how others, in turn, perceived him.

Socially-prescribed perfectionism: Capote was keenly aware of public perception of himself and his work, which became a major stumbling block later in life. He described his career as being split into parts, saying in an interview with Roy Newquist in 1964, “I think I’ve had two careers. One was the career of precocity, the young person who published a series of books… My second career began with Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It involved a different point of view…” 

As a young man, Capote described himself as precocious, which presumes boldness tempered by innocence. His talent was discovered early on, and he didn’t hesitate to use his gifts. Yet, after the critical and commercial success of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, he shifted to a more experimental form of writing, a “non-fiction novel,” which begs the question why? Had he accomplished all he’d hoped to? Or was he deviating from what he knew because he was afraid of measuring-up?

Capote’s biographer Clark informs us, “He never allowed anything to be published that he thought was not up to snuff, and despite the booze and the setbacks he wrote well, very well… He just wasn’t able to finish the big one, Answered Prayers.” In the planning stages, Capote believed this work would become the American equivalent of Marcel Proust’s, In Search of Lost Time, a lofty comparison. It was scheduled for publication in 1968, but he eventually returned the advance.

Capote’s paralysis reveals a deep-seated fear of failure, exacerbated by his early success. Psychologist and professor, Joseph Ferrari of DuPaul University, has suggested that he may have believed that if he never finished, he could never be judged. In a profile in Interview Magazine, Capote admitted, “The more you know about something, the harder it becomes. You become more and more of a perfectionist. I think it’s a curse… it’s a form of illness.” 

So, what can we learn from him? How can we do it differently? As much as our pens and keyboards are essential tools of the trade, so are our self-care practices. We must cultivate a positive outlook towards ourselves and others to sustain a long and healthy career as a writer, particularly given the pressure associated with publishing (and marketing). 

When the balance is off, we begin to see ourselves “as” our work, stifling creativity and alienating others. Capote mused, “I think I would have written five times as much as I’ve written, if I didn’t have this terrible sense of perfection.” 

With that in mind, our top tip this month is to differentiate between perfectionism and the pursuit of excellence. Writers at all stages of their careers will strive to do their best work. There is nothing wrong with that—in fact, it’s an honorable aspiration—as long as the desire to learn and grow underpins what appears on the page. Perfectionism is the precise opposite. It’s a fixed belief that our skills and abilities are preset, where any struggle confirms our misunderstanding, creating a painful feedback loop.

If you recognize yourself in this article, meaning you suffer from procrastination or writer’s flood (filling vast pages only to delete the majority of the text afterwards), feel anger or negativity toward yourself or others when you (or they) write, seek validation and praise while feeling like an imposter, it’s time to get help. Perfectionism is a complex and dysfunctional mindset that requires an intervention and an assortment of strategies.

Regardless, here's a quick exercise you can try: ask yourself “what if?” questions. By contemplating the opposite (a tried-and-true technique that comes from Patanjali’s, Yoga Sutras), you can open new pathways. For example: What if you gave yourself permission to write an SFD? What if others would applaud your efforts? What if your worth wasn’t based on your work? Brainstorm some questions, then free-write your answers. Good or bad, skewed or not, they will help inform your next steps. 

Reach out. Talk to someone you trust. Do some reading and research. Above all else, remember Capote’s example. Don’t allow his fate to become yours. His true crime legacy includes the one perpetrated by himself on himself. He said, “More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.” Prophetic words.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night: Effective Use of Weather to Create Tension and Introduce an Atmosphere of Menace

By Carol Willis

---

Dark atmosphere and ominous weather can be effective ways to immediately introduce tension and establish a menacing mood. Let’s look at several psychological thrillers for a few excellent examples. Consider Imran Mahmood’s gripping thriller, I Know What I Saw (2021). The book begins with ominous weather:  

The sky is a bruised sea. It threatens to burst and split the night. 

These two sentences are short, but they create tension and a dark mood. I promise to not bog you down in grammar, but let’s linger on these two sentences a bit longer and consider the word choice. The image of a “bruised sea” immediately invokes an image of violence; a violence that is expansive and dark and deep as an ocean. Then look at the second line. "Threatens" is the main verb in the present tense and "to burst and split" is an infinitive phrase acting as the direct object of "threatens." The verbs "burst" and "split" are connected by "and," indicating two actions that "it" (the sky) threatens to do. The sentence ends with "the night" which is the object of the infinitives "burst" and "split," showing what the sky threatens to affect.  

The nouns sky, sea and night are expansive, all-encompassing. We know what they are and can even picture them in our mind’s eye. But they are also difficult to contemplate. The sea and the night sky extend beyond the horizon, beyond the limits of our vision. And the choice of verbs bruised (used as an adjective to modify the noun sea), threaten, burst and spilt are all violent. Two sentences. Fourteen words. There is immediate, almost epic feel of impending doom. Do you feel it? I can.  

Writers are often taught, don’t start with the weather. But this example proves that rules can be broken. The short punchy sentences also help characterize the main character who is a battered and bruised homeless man about to stumble over a dead body.  

Let’s take a quick look at Black Car Burning (2019) by Helen Mort, a poet and her debut novel.  

Today the sky is full of thunder. Great gobs of cloud above the Penistone Road. The girls don’t have an umbrella and they’re shrieking, laughing as the rain starts to strike.  

A brief description of weather can lend itself to beautiful and lyrical writing. These three sentences are wonderful – they set the scene but also tell us so much about the novel using weather as metaphor to the loss of innocence that is about to happen. 

In The Patient (2022), Jane Shemilt’s moody suspense thriller begins with a dark, rainy night to set the tone and create an atmosphere of menace: 

The footsteps were buried inside other sounds to start with. Rain pattering on leaves, branches sighing in the wind, a lorry in the distance on the Blandford Road. I thought I was hearing things again. Things that Nathan had told me weren’t really there. There were few street lights along this path. The floodlit Cathedral behind the trees cast shadows on the gravel. A woman had been murdered here at night a hundred years ago. On cloudy nights like this one, walking here felt dangerous… I was out of luck tonight. I began to hurry. The footsteps were louder now.  

As with all great openings, we get a lot of details in a few short sentences. She sets up the atmosphere: dark, rainy night and the sound of footsteps following—something every woman in the world has experienced at one time or another—and the immediate fear it invokes. Then we get the hint that she might not be reliable and the introduction of Nathan. Then we get the sentence about the murdered woman. So, we get a dead body—the body is not described for us—but we see it nonetheless. Murdered. She doesn’t say killed—which could be an accident—but murdered gives us the evil intent and links us to the sound of the ominous footsteps introduced in the very first sentence. Then she says, it felt dangerous. And we feel the danger, too. As the footsteps get louder, we sense the urgency, the immediacy of the situation. So far, the image in these sentences is very effective.   

Atmosphere is everything in psychological thrillers, and few things conjure menace more powerfully than the threat of something—or someone—lurking just out of sight. In just a few deftly crafted sentences, the author immerses us in a world of unease, where the sound of footsteps on a darkened path doesn’t just suggest danger—it demands we keep turning the page. 

The sky doesn’t have to be dark and stormy to create an atmosphere of menace. Take a look at what Laura McHugh does in What’s Done in Darkness (2021). This is the fifth book by Laura McHugh. She writes books inspired by true crime and often sets them in the Ozarks or rural Kansas. Her main characters are often poor and part of marginalized communities (religious or otherwise) but she does not veer into sentimentality or glamorization. Let’s take a look at the opening paragraph:  

Sarabeth – That day, age 17 

The blacktop road stretched empty in either direction. The sky hazy. The air heavy as a sodden sponge. The heat of the late morning sun amplified the autumn scent of drying cornstalks. The putrid sweetness of persimmons rotting in the ditch. Insects swarmed the fermenting fruit buzzing like an unholy plague. Sarabeth brushed away a sweat bee. She had walked the long twisting road from the house to roadside stand alone pulling a wagon with one bad wheel, her legs sweating beneath her ankle-length skirt. Her little sister, Sylvie, sometimes worked the stand with her but today she was home with a fever and vicious sore throat. Her mother had spent the morning praying over her.  

The book begins with the inciting event: 17-year-old, Sarabeth, is abducted while attending the family’s roadside vegetable stand alone on one hot autumn day.  

What do we see in the set up?  

We get a sense for the time of year—autumn with its smells, but still hot. The air is hazy and heavy. There is something already oppressive in this opening paragraph. The road stretching empty in either direction is a clear image and as we read on it adds to the characterization of this teenager who is alone and isolated in a rural community. Her family’s religion with a distinct undercurrent of something rotting is conveyed in this paragraph with the use of words like empty/alone/putrid sweetness/rotting/ unholy plague/ankle-length skirt/praying over her.  

Just from the opening, we know something is likely off or wonky like the “one bad wheel” of the wagon. Why is she in a long skirt on a hot day? Why is a 17-year-old not in school? Why is her sister, obviously sick and with fever, lying in bed and being prayed over instead of being taken to the doctor? The long twisting road she had to walk—we get the sense that her life is or soon will be a long twisting road. Just like the blacktop road, her life is empty in all directions.  

From this opening paragraph we know a lot. We know that Sarabeth is 17 years old, lives in a rural community, is isolated, not in school, and is likely oppressed (atmosphere of menace) and rotting away under a strict religious family. Again, we see the use of a crime or conflict in the beginning. The ordinariness of the day – a girl taking vegetables to sell at a roadside stand. It is the epitome of rural Americana which only adds to the internal dread and anxiety we feel.  

This is an excellent example of opening with atmosphere/weather that are brilliantly used to characterize themes of rural life in Arkansas, isolation, religious extremism, loss of innocence, women’s rights/inequality, which are all are part of this propulsive thriller.  

Next month, we will consider one of the biggest questions in psychological thrillers: the mind and behavior of the main character.