For our Creative Non-Fiction Bootcamp, Adolfo Aranjuez wraps his expertise into seven weeks of workshop –perfect for writers of non-fiction that create work that isn’t neatly defined. In this Q&A conducted with Jamie Marina Lau, Adolfo explores how the filters of memory and bias can be explored, the nature of freelancing and his workshop style.
Adolfo’s two decades of experience spans being an editor, writer, speaker and dancer. He’s worked with major publishing houses, festivals and magazines across Australia and France.
You’re running a Creative Non-Fiction Bootcamp with us! We’re super excited to have you back. What kinds of projects can writers bring to workshop and build upon over weeks they’ll spend under your guidance?
In developing this non-fiction bootcamp, I wanted to make room for narrative, experimental and/or cross-genre possibilities. Resources and events on writing ‘straight’ non-fiction are easy to come by, and there’s no dearth of tried-and-tested formulas for these forms (for instance, journalism’s inverted pyramid). Creative non-fiction, on the other hand, is much more heterogeneous—it’s akin to the film label ‘arthouse’ in that it’s less about a specific tangible expression and more about iterative responses to a provocation.
All of which is to say: if the non-fiction project doesn’t simply report past events or take the truth at face value (more on this below), it’s perfect for my workshop. If it can’t be neatly categorised, challenges convention and/or subverts the ‘factual’ label, bring it along. And if it’s mostly informed by real life but the writer is keen to present it in a more intriguing, non-diarised way, that’s a great fit, too. Regardless of what the attendees are working on, this bootcamp will ensure they emerge with something more compelling than what they started with.
To you, what distinguishes creative non-fiction?
What excites me most about non-fiction is its inextricable relationship with the truth, along with the many ways in which ‘truth’ itself can be creatively reframed, complicated, embellished, elaborated. Of course, there are things we uphold as constants, like scientific facts and verified historical events. But when it comes to matters in some way coloured by subjectivity—memories, emotions, ethical conundrums, encounters with others— the playing field becomes infinitely more mutable.
For ‘straight’ non-fiction like academia, journalism and ‘pure’ arts criticism, what counts most is objectivity. But for creative non-fiction, it’s precisely this mutability, this capacity to (as workshop attendees will learn) modulate our orientation to truth/s, that we take as our starting point. How can perspective and partiality be played with to enrich the recounting of events? How can plotting, atmosphere and characterisation—to crib from fiction—be altered to maximise impact? How can metaphor, imagery and turn of phrase—taking from poetry this time—recalibrate the reader’s comprehension?
As a mentor and as someone who has worked across a range of creative communities, what role do you think community, mentorship, and workshopping plays in a writer’s journey, which is usually known to be more solitary?
While I don’t deny that these interactions are generative (I wouldn’t be doing what I do otherwise!), the bitter pill is that, in the end, it all depends on the writer. Upskilling activities such as workshops afford them extra tools and sharpen their extant knowledge and skills. Direct tutelage, as in mentorships, transmits expertise. And outsourcing feedback and emotional support to peers ensures they aren’t stifled by the burden of possible-greatness. All of these are futile, though, if the writer doesn’t commit to their craft and to the implementation of these learnings therein. Put bluntly: it’s not the mentors, the workshop leaders, the community or the peers whose name appears in the byline.
What excites me most about non-fiction is its inextricable relationship with the truth, along with the many ways ‘truth’ itself can be creatively reframed, complicated, embellished, elaborated.
I’m reminded—and, here, I’m betraying my own subjective biases—of the hero’s journey, or the format of role-playing videogames, whereby an individual calls on other characters to aid them on their quest, yet the ultimate acts of heroism fall on them alone. This need not be scary; there’s exhilaration in realising that a piece has improved by one’s own hand! Yes, expert input can mitigate a writer’s weak spots. Yes, often, an outsider’s vantage point is just what’s needed to push a work from ‘good enough’ to ‘excellent’. But there’s only so much external agents can contribute to a process that is, at heart, propelled by the self. We’re all in this together until the writer faces the Boss Battle with the Word document v3-final-4b-FINAL-v2.
You’re living the dream of being a creative freelancer. What does your day to day look like?
It’s not as glamorous as it seems! My freelance life is defined by constant emailing and following up; procrastination (even I am not immune) and self-bribery; worrying about finances; seeing how far the finish line is but striving, anyway; and, if I’m lucky, finally finishing the job and waiting for that sweet, sweet sense of fulfilment to kick in.
It’s tricky at times, but I do love the autonomy afforded by freelancing. Would it be nice to have some income regularity? Absolutely. Would it enhance my wellbeing for jobs not to fall through a week before they’re scheduled to start (true story)? For sure. Would my quality of life be increased if I didn’t work in crappy house clothes most days, glamming up only for public-facing gigs like the Creative Non-Fiction Bootcamp? Probably. But this is the path I’ve chosen—my hero’s journey—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
If a writer is working on an essay, collection, or memoir and wants to collaborate editorially with you, what are the first things you’re looking at?
With non-fiction, a common pitfall is the assumption that, because the topic/event/trauma/theory is significant to the author, it will immediately also be significant to the reader. This is 100 per cent false. We’re already bombarded with both the stories we tell ourselves (to get motivated, to justify that purchase, to excuse that snipe at our sibling) and the stories of others (the office drama, the bestie’s breakup, genocide and the climate crisis, that TikTok guy who fell into mud). Why, in Woolf’s name, should we care about yet another story?
During editing, one of my first tasks is to guide the writer in identifying the main drawcard/s of their work. What does it bring to the table that hasn’t already been said, and why is this writer the one to say it? Or, if not tackling an especially new topic, what makes it stand out: a lesser-heard voice, a unique angle, a refreshing style? Armed with this information, I then help them clarify the two pillars that will guide the editing process moving forward—audience (who is this work intended for?) and purpose (what is this work trying to achieve?)—before proceeding to address substance, structure and expression in turn. Gotta make sure we hook those readers and keep them hooked!
Don’t miss out and enrol in Adolfo’s Creative Non-fiction Bootcamp: Workshop and Feedback Clinic.