Unanswered Prayers: Truman Capote and The Case Against Perfectionism

By Mary Lynn Cloghesy and Jason Schembri

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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.

On Short Fiction and Evil Masterminds / Author Robert Mangeot

Writing short fiction demands a different kind of mental training. While novels can luxuriate with expansive plots and subplots, short fiction requires jabs and punches. In this week’s Killer Nashville Guest Blog, author Robert Mangeot cleverly tells us how he went from short story unpublished to well-published. And how you can do the same. You simply have to let the masterminds do their job.

Happy Reading!

Clay Stafford
Founder Killer Nashville,
Publisher Killer Nashville Magazine

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On Short Fiction and Evil Masterminds

By Robert Mangeot

Inside us crime writer folk lurks an evil mastermind. Sure, some days the evil one may seem quiet, but always deep in our imaginations is a dimly lit chamber, walls blanketed in maps with dragons stalking the margins, a desk piled with jumbled notebooks, a shrouded figure clacking away in mad flourishes at the computer keyboard. Your inner mastermind is planning, planning, planning.

As crime writer folk, it’s likely you consider having your creative dark side pointed out as a compliment. And you should. If short fiction interests you, then unleashing that evil dude or dudette might be your call to adventure.

Flash to me outside a Manhattan bookshop, a gunmetal sky over SoHo, and an April mist slicking the rush hour streets: a perfect night for spying. You read that right. Espionage. Except I had only written a short story about spies, and the honor of it landing in the MWA anthology Ice Cold—which was launched that rain-slicked night at The Mysterious Bookshop—was borne of fruitful collaboration with my inner mastermind.

Killer stories require more than lightning bolts of inspiration. In crime writer-ese, a great short story is like a heist: intricate timetable, tricky execution, ticking clock. The story mastermind must identify and adapt to each and every obstacle in order to pull off the job.

Flashback to 2010. Flush with creativity, I had locked myself away to crank out stories. They stunk, every blessed one of them. I know that now, but in those heady days I fired off submissions, certain of a breakthrough.

Not so much.

Fast-forward through a trial-and-error montage of research, critique and useful rejection, add any Eighties arena pop soundtrack at your discretion. What kept me going was my stretch goal—selling a story to a dream market like MWA or Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Trust me, back then when I said stretch, it meant hyperextension. Whether or not I would ever get the dream acceptance letter, who knew? The important thing was the reach.

Fast-forward again through more rewrite and rejection to enlightenment. Finally I understood my stories, like heists without a getaway plan, they were never coming together. Characters, setting, plot, everything had to be crafted to bring out a connected whole. Poe—now there was an evil mastermind—called this “unity of effect.”

For that I learned to call on my mastermind, which means I also learned to pay as much attention to how I’m writing as to what I’m writing. After all, one story is just one story. My creative process is how I’ll write more and better. And so I’ve developed brainstorming rituals that summon the mastermind. He arrives feisty, demanding sharper ideas and I rewrite again and again and again. He forces me to slash away at the labor-of-love early drafts and darling sentences. The evil mastermind is editing, editing, editing.

Some key lessons from the inner mastermind about killer short fiction; he is five-fold:

The Brain: Amp up the premise until it is distinctively your own. Premises are infinite. Take risks. Have fun with voices, characters, and ideas. The price of a short story idea falling apart is pretty much zero, and if it improves your writing, I’d call that a success.

The Grease Man: Like tumblers falling in a picked lock, work every element into the connected whole. Subplots are for novels, asides for Shakespeare. Keep a short story slick and elegant.

The Insider: Do the research. Amazing next-level inspiration comes from having the context and interrelationships nailed. Also, before ever submitting somewhere, read several issues first. Know the target market cold, its submission requirements and editorial preferences. This is make-or-break with pro markets. No heist goes off without first casing the joint, right?

The Muscle: Short stories are all about compressed vibrancy. Find the compelling narrative voice that does the heavy lifting, especially with mood and characterization. Edit, edit, edit until the deeper story emerges and the words crackle.

The Getaway Driver: Start the story late, well after a novel version would open. Move quick, hit hard and get out fast, with a thematic roar that echoes long after the last word is read.

Simple, right? We crime writer folk understand simple doesn’t mean easy. But for me, that journey is becoming an adventure. The short story is dead? Feels pretty alive to me.

You know what else is alive? Your mastermind. Alive and hard at work somewhere in there, planning, planning, planning your story of the century.

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If you would like to read more about Robert Mangeot’s books please click here.

Robert Mangeot lives in Franklin, Tennessee, with his wife, pair of cats, and a bossy Pomeranian writing partner. His short fiction has won multiple writing contests and appears in various journals and anthologies, including Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and Mystery Writers of America Presents Ice Cold: Tales of Intrigue from the Cold War. He serves as the Vice-President of Sisters In Crime, Middle Tennessee chapter. Visit his website at robertmangeot.com

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