![It’s Complicated: 3 Rules for Writing about Difficult Relationships]()
by Theresa Garee | Mar 4, 2019 | Blog
“Love truth, but pardon error.” – Voltaire
If my mother hadn’t died, she would have been 89 on March 1st. And if she hadn’t died, I might not have written Depression Hates a Moving Target: How Running with My Dog Brought Me Back from the Brink because I’m not sure I would have taken up running. Sorry for the cliffhanger, but the book tells that story.
When I posted a photo of Mom on social media, as I do nearly every year on her birthday, friends and family commented with fond memories. They weren’t making it up. She could be kind, thoughtful, generous, creative, witty, and brilliant.
But she was the most confusing person in my life.
Mom only appears on a few pages of my running and mental health memoir, but she might be the most interesting person in the story. The year after she died, I wrote a first draft of a memoir about our relationship. I found the writing so painful that I set it aside to heal and gain perspective.
Her birthday and my reaction to the social media comments (curiosity and a bit of terror at the thought of what people who loved her might think after they read the book) led me to ponder how we can love someone so much yet also find the relationship so hard. As a writer, I reflected on how to write about difficult relationships.
Did her death grant me artistic license to tell the truth?
I’ve written before about Mary Karr’s admonition to memoirists. Karr, author of the memoir The Liar’s Club, one of the first memoirs about dysfunctional families to hit the best-seller list, has been referred to as “grande dame memoirista.” When she spoke at a nonfiction conference I attended years ago, Karr didn’t mince words. “Don’t make shit up.”
When I wrote this memoir (and the other memoir drafts sitting in files on my computer and in boxes in our basement) I heeded Karr’s words. “Don’t make shit up” was my canon, my lodestar, my guiding light. I wrote with abandon while compulsively checking journals, running logs, and datebooks to ensure accuracy.
Then came the revisions where I had to decide what I really wanted to say. How could I portray my experience without making any of the people in the book, and especially my mother, look like either monsters or saints?
Here are three rules I used in both parts of the process:
1. BE BRUTAL. I wrote it all down. I used full names, actual places, true occupations. I wrote what everyone said and how it made me feel. I laughed, screamed, and cried. I put myself back in the scene and relived it on the page.
2. BE KIND. I summoned empathy. I asked myself what the other person might say if they could tell their side of the story. I asked myself if I could be wrong about what happened or why it happened and I wrote that too. While I told the story from my perspective, it’s more interesting (and honest) to see all aspects. Perhaps it’s my legal training or my “mediator” personality, but after the dust of the first draft had settled, I found great relief in asking these questions. It added depth to a story that might otherwise lie flat.
3. CHOP IT IN HALF. Then I cut, cut, cut. My first drafts are gargantuan creatures, unwieldy and wild. Trimming and tightening helped me see where I may have been mistaken and (I hope) allows the truth to shine through.
by Theresa Garee | Feb 3, 2012 | Blog
“Shut up about ideal conditions. I am tired of hearing myself whine about needing a writing shed—and, frankly, I’m tired of hearing you whine about it too.” – Patti Digh in a blog article on Sheila Bender’s website
In 1996, I attended my first writing workshop with Natalie Goldberg. By June of 1997, I had convinced my adventurous husband that we should put our house on the market and move to Taos, New Mexico so I could study with Natalie year-round. Now, mind you, Natalie didn’t have any kind of plan for people to study with her year-round, but I thought, if I just got out of Ohio, I could write. I mean, the sun! The moutains! The fresh, high-altitude air! What’s not to love about a tiny art town in the mountains of New Mexico? Well, one day I intend to write a book answering that question, but suffice it to say, when we moved, I brought my chronic depression and poor writing habits along.
Fast forward three years. The house in Taos was sold and we were back in central Ohio. Hubby would have preferred California or Hawaii, but I was convinced only Ohio would do. And guess what? Writing wasn’t any easier back in Ohio.
Don’t get me wrong. I benefit from a good change of scenery every once in awhile, especially if said change of scenery lacks internet connection. But I don’t kid myself that a geographic cure will fix the problem. Writers need to be able to write when it’s time to write no matter where they find themselves. For several years the best writing spot was whatever doctor’s office waiting room I found myself in as I accompanied my mother on her visits to a variety of physicians. I’d take earplugs or headphones and my laptop. I’d tune out the other patients and caregivers and write. I didn’t have a choice. I was getting my M.F.A. and the deadlines weren’t flexible!
The moral of the story was put eloquently in the blog article quoted above. Wherever you go, there you are. If you can’t write in your three-bedroom ranch in central Ohio, chances are you won’t be able to write in the mountains of New Mexico.
What about you? Have you ever attempted a geographic cure? Have you ever been lured into the notion that “ideal conditions” could solve your woes? As always, I’d love to hear about it.
by Theresa Garee | Oct 13, 2008 | Blog
A few weeks ago Nikki, a fellow Goddard student and blogger at More Purple Houses, tagged me to tell you six random things about me and then tag some other bloggers. Here goes:
1. At Starbucks, I order a decaf triple venti soy one sweet-n-low latte.
2. I don’t care for onions or cooked spinach although I will eat small amounts of spinach if it is chopped and mixed with something else. Onions I will pick out of everything whether raw or cooked.
3. I currently have braces after having had rapid palatal expansion surgery. I hope the braces will be removed very soon.
4. When I was a teenager, my mother, Ellen Buddelmeyer, was the drive-time radio disc jockey for WCVO, the Christian voice of central Ohio. I did not think this was cool.
5. I began letting my hair grow as the official start of my mid-life crisis. It is now well below my shoulders. I have no plans to cut it anytime soon.
6. When I practiced law, I memorized the punch line of every lawyer joke I could. When someone began to tell the joke, I said the punch line to spoil it. I have forgotten most of them.
There. That wasn’t so bad. I’ll tag Sea Side Shooter and Mel.
by Theresa Garee | Jan 3, 2008 | Blog, Write Now Columbus Essay Archives
I’m beside myself with grief. My mother, Sarah Ellen Buddelmeyer, died Sunday, December 30, 2007. My family is in mourning. Please keep us in your thoughts.
And please keep writing. Mom would have wanted us all to keep writing.
