Watch the book trailer for North of Normal:
Read also Part 1 of Cea’s thought-provoking interview.
As you wrote about your personal experiences in North of Normal, did you struggle to deliver the most truthful version of events? Have others ever disagreed with your recountings?
I have struggled, yes, because there are always missing details that sometimes need to be speculated about or made up. But my philosophy is to always stick to the truth of the event, and the rest will follow. Memoir is a creative art, not a straightforward recounting of events.
I have never had anyone disagree with my written memories. Some have expressed surprise at some of the things that went on within my family, mostly with my mother’s siblings, but I was expecting that, since very few people knew the whole picture of what was going on and the family dynamics.
Have you ever had to deal with anyone being upset about something you’ve written (family or friends)?
Would you believe no? Keep in mind that my mother and grandparents are passed on, and I’m out of touch with my mother’s siblings. My father was upset, but only because he felt guilty for not being there for everything I was going through as a child. I did have one friend who read an early draft and chose to judge me for some of the choices I made in my twenties — needless to say that friendship is over! For the most part, it has been amazing — I’ve had many people who knew me as a child and knew my grandparents and mother back in the day who have really enjoyed the book and been super supportive.
What was the most surprising discovery you made through writing your book — about yourself, or the writing process, or your life’s journey?
The thing that surprised me the most was how open, willing, and excited people were to hear my story. This goes for my friends (who knew very little about my past), my family, my agent and editors, and my readers. I knew I had a crazy story, but I’d always seen it as a liability rather than an asset. Putting it out there changed that perspective for me. It also made me realize that I had preconceived notions about people and their expectations of me. I realized I hadn’t given most people enough credit for their abilities to be accepting and even admiring of my challenging and unique past. I was surprised by how it strengthened existing friendships and forged new ones. I was surprised by the stories I heard from others about their own struggles, people I’d always imagined had lived charmed lives. I was surprised that females from teenagers to seniors connected with my story, and that men did too. I had never thought of myself as inspirational, but it makes sense to me now, because the people I admire the most have come through a lot in their lives.
It also surprised me that I was able to learn to write in such short increments, amid chaos. I didn’t think my brain worked that way, but I guess I trained it to!
I sense love for your mother but also a frustration. Did this memoir — specifically regarding the relationship with your mother — begin to form in your mind before she died, or did you decide to write it after?
I began writing my book a year before my mother died. The funny thing is, she knew that I’d dreamed of writing it for years and had always encouraged me to do so. She was really excited when I told her I was finally doing it, and that’s when I started to get nervous about it! I realized that she and I had such opposing views of my childhood that she would likely be very hurt by what I was going to write. She saw my childhood as a wilderness nirvana and felt she had given me the ultimate gift of personal freedom of expression by not restricting me or disciplining me. Obviously, I saw it differently. I remember telling her that it would probably be hard for her to read, that it revealed the bad along with the good, and she smiled at me and told me she was okay with that. I had a lot of questions about the details and chronology of my childhood, so she sat with me and helped me put it all in order. She also filled in a few stories — for example, the time we slept in the abandoned farmhouse, which I hardly remembered at all.
She never did get a chance to read it, because her health deteriorated rapidly after that. I also did not have a draft I was willing to show to anyone, let alone my mother, within that time frame. Part of me is grateful that she never had to read it, though I know she would have been proud in the end. Her death also gave me a sense of added responsibility to make sure I told both my story and hers from a very human perspective — letting the world see her wonderful qualities as well as her flaws. Since she is not here to speak for herself, I wanted to be sure she was honoured that way. Many people who knew her have told me that I did a great job of capturing her spirit, and that means a lot to me.
Which traits of your family do you hold dear or consider strengths? Which have you chosen to let go of?
Great question! I really value my family’s courage to go after their dreams and create a new world for themselves against the odds. Courage and tenacity are traits that I value in people probably above all else. Their love of nature and willingness to live minimally and non-commercially are things I aspire to, but have not succeeded with as they did. Narcissism and selfishness were my mother’s and grandfather’s worst traits, so it’s probably not surprising that these are trigger points for me in others. I also try hard to give my own kids guidance and boundaries, which are things I never got.
When you became a mother yourself, did you view your childhood memories, and your relationship with your own mother, in a different light, and if so, was this helpful for your writing?
I believe that becoming a mother did change my perspective. I remember when my first son was born, I held him on my chest and suddenly understood how my own mother could never give me up and just chose to do the best she could. At the same time, it made me furious that she hadn’t done more to protect my childhood innocence. So I guess you could say I simultaneously had more sympathy and more anger toward her, which probably made my writing more emotional as a result. But my past was my past, and becoming a mother did not change my purpose in writing my story and the way I remembered how events had played out. When I was writing, I would always try to transport myself back to my childhood self and how I would have seen things at that age. I will say that having children myself who were at three very different ages — baby, toddler, school kid — helped immensely in terms of listening to how children speak at certain ages, and getting clues into how they think. I imagined that my thinking would have been similar to theirs in terms of level of understanding of what was happening in my life at the time.
Do you think of yourself as a writer, or more specifically as a memoir writer? If the latter, do you ever worry about running out of material to write about? (This worry would keep me up at night!)
I guess I think of myself as a memoir writer who is transitioning into a regular old writer! I’ve written two books on my life now, and may have another one in me as a book for teen girls. Beyond that, I know that my story is done and told, which fills me with both relief and dread. The relief is that I was able to get it out and be proud of the finished product and how it has helped others. I am also, quite frankly, sick of writing and talking about myself! The dread, of course, is that whatever I choose to write about next won’t be as good, because it is not my own experience. I want to write nonfiction books about other people’s lives, and I hope that this will be a new, challenging, and exciting genre for me.
Were there times when you felt unprepared emotionally to write about certain experiences?
Memoir is unique in that it tests not only our writing skills but also our memories and the emotions that go along with them. I think it’s important to think of the first draft of your memoir as the one where you get everything out, almost like a diary that you know no one will read. Do whatever you have to — place blame, rage, hate yourself or your life choices if you have to. Expect a lot of emotions during this time — some call it the “diarrhea draft,” but of course I’m classier than that.
At some point after that first draft, it’s imperative that you stop seeing yourself as the you in your story and start seeing yourself as the protagonist. This was key for me in getting the distance I needed to write objectively, without malice or fear of my memories. It was an interesting transition, because I then felt like I was writing about a fictitious character named Cea, and I wanted to make her as compelling and three-dimensional as any of my favourite fiction heroines. Writing with the reader’s desires in mind instead of your own therapeutic needs really helps during this process.
It’s also important to remember that it is not necessary to reveal all in a memoir. If some memories really make you squirm, it’s okay to leave them out. Interestingly, I wrote a few scenes for North of Normal that I ultimately deleted because of the way they made me feel about myself — ashamed, dirty, and unlovable. In my second memoir, I decided to release these previously deleted scenes to the world because of the acceptance I had found through readers in my first memoir, which made me even more willing to take risks in my writing.
All in all, it is a leap of faith and a test of courage to write about the really tough stuff. I always remind myself that if there is something I’ve gone through, there is someone else out there in the world who has gone through something very similar and will identify with my experience — and that is enough for me. That may not be enough for you, and that’s okay. We all have our personal standards for acceptable divulgence. What I can tell you is that laying myself bare has been more rewarding than I ever thought possible, and I never would have been able to say that had I not taken the risk.
Has writing about difficult events in your life been cathartic, and did it bring up other issues that you may have forgotten until you started writing these books?
It has been extremely therapeutic, yes. In fact, my second memoir [to be published this year] is about the healing process I went through as a result of writing North of Normal! I wouldn’t say that writing my books brought up many new memories, but it did make me understand why I was the way I was and gave me a lot of insight into my choices in life, good and bad.
When describing times of your youth — I’m thinking, for example, of the party scenes — what techniques did you use to reconstruct dialogue?
Dialogue seems to be one of those things that writers either find comes very naturally or really struggle with. I definitely started off in the latter group, but now it’s one of my favourite elements.
First of all, it is important to determine if dialogue is needed at all within a scene, or if the message would be better conveyed through paraphrasing or narrative. My rule is that if the dialogue is not moving the plot forward, it should be replaced with one of the above techniques.
Obviously, it is not possible to recall conversations from years ago with much clarity. What I do personally is to think about the gist of the conversation, the most important bits of information that were exchanged, and the general demeanour of the participants. I also try to recall key snippets of what was said, because this gives important clues about the speaker’s tone of voice, mood, etc. I then build a scene around what I absolutely do remember, with supporting dialogue, actions, and settings that make sense to both the scene and the people speaking. If my mother had a habit of tugging on her hair when she was nervous, for example, I might bring this movement in as she is speaking about something difficult, even if I can’t exactly remember her doing that during this particular conversation. If it’s a tough conversation, I might mention that it’s raining, in keeping with the mood, or that the sun is shining despite the gloom in the room, even though I don’t remember what the weather was doing that day. Also, keep in mind that speech is not perfect — there are accents, mispronounced words, long pauses, “ums” and “ahs,” and your dialogue should reflect this.
Knowing where to begin and end your dialogue is also important. I like either to start the dialogue with a provocative statement or question, and then let the ensuing conversation explain how we arrived at that statement, or begin my dialogue more quietly and lead up to a compelling point and end the scene there. Be careful not to bore your reader with mundane exchanges of information that have little impact on the plot. Keep it tight. I like to think of dialogue as lively pops of colour amidst the greyer shades of narrative.
What books or authors have influenced you most?
Jeanette Walls’s The Glass Castle was the most influential — I actually started writing my memoir the same night I finished hers! Also Angela’s Ashes, Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, Never Cry Wolf, She’s Come Undone, White Oleander, Fall on Your Knees, and Look at Me by Jennifer Egan were all very inspiring for me. I actually read a lot more fiction than memoir before I started writing my own story, and now I read almost all memoir.
What compels you to continue writing?
Writing has become a creative outlet that fulfills my soul. I am not nearly as happy when I’m not working on a writing project.
What’s the best thing about writing a memoir? What’s the worst?
The best part has been helping others with their own life challenges, and coming to feel that I’m going through life without any secrets anymore. I used to hate for people to know where I came from, but now everyone does, and it has opened doors for more new friendships than I could have imagined. It has also given me an outlet to express myself and connect with others through public speaking, the media, and teaching.
The worst thing? Knowing that because I’ve written two stories about my life, memoir writing is pretty much over for me. Writing about my past helped me reconnect with it and relive some cherished moments and feelings, so it does bum me out that I’ve mined and depleted most of that ground, even though I did so in a way that was meaningful to me personally.
What advice do you have for a budding writer?
Get lots of honest feedback on your drafts from friends and acquaintances who read a lot of memoir. If the feedback is consistently good, don’t give up! If it’s mixed or negative, rethink your strategy. Maybe your story needs to be told in a different way, or maybe memoir isn’t your forte but fiction is. Also, don’t think you need huge chunks of uninterrupted time to write. Don’t make excuses — just do it!
(For Cea’s bio, book information, and additional links, see Part 1.)