I blew up my life, then I wrote this book
I'm not saying you should do that. But I'm not not saying that either.
Some of you new readers have found your way here from the latest
about how you know it’s time to get divorced: Welcome! I tend to write here mostly about writing, and not that much about my personal life, but of course these things are always intertwined, whether we want to admit it or not. And here’s what I will say about my new book, ANIMAL INSTINCT, which comes out March 18th (so soon! You can still preorder, or request from your local indie bookstore or library!) — I could not have written this novel had I not first blown up my entire life.Speaking of ANIMAL INSTINCT… join me at one of these book launch events in March: 3/19 @ P&T Knitwear with Ada Calhoun and/or 3/20 @ Books Are Magic with Emily Schultz!
(RSVP as spots are limited!)
I did not want to blow up my entire life. I’m not, generally speaking, a “blowing entire life up” kind of person. I’m a writer, dammit! I like to spend my time quietly reading and writing and thinking and taking dreamy walks and doing writerly things, not having incredibly difficult conversations and researching divorce lawyers and moving to a new apartment and reconfiguring my whole life.
When I realized I was going to need to get divorced, I was not feeling particularly “You Go Girl!” Rather, I was feeling like I’d veered off the Path of Real Life and gotten mired in some dark netherworld. I remember watching Stranger Things around this time, and thinking, when they go to the Upside Down, Yep it’s just like that, that is my life. The feeling was less of a Nicole-Kidman-dancing-in-the-street and more of, like, a swamp monster dragging through the muck.
It’s hard for me now, over half a decade later, to remember exactly what this felt like — it’s like trying to remember a smell. I remember that I couldn’t eat (not a normal response for me!) and couldn’t sleep (my personal hell!). I know that I moved through my days in a kind of surreal panic. I recall that a wise friend told me to take things 15 minutes at a time, and that was kind of all I could do.
It’s hard for me to actually remember the feelings, though, because I am so, so, so much happier now. Like, I know now that I didn’t even know then how unhappy I actually was. Sometimes I feel like I was basically a different person than I am now.
I wish that I could go back in time and help out that scared, anxious version of me. Look, it’s going to be emotionally difficult and labor-intensive and expensive, I’d tell her, and what’s more, after your divorce you’re going to get laid off, and become a full-time freelancer, and you’re have to absolutely work your ass off to support yourself — Actually wait maybe I wouldn’t tell her that. Jiminy Cricket that’s a lot.
I also definitely wouldn’t tell her: Oh funny story, so right after you move out, there’s going to be a terrifying world-wide pandemic that shuts everything down… No, no, no, I’m not trying to give her a heart attack.
But I would tell her: You’re about to learn how independent you can be. You are going to have freedom of an unprecedented kind. You are going to gain incredible perspective on marriage, sexuality, gender, compulsive heterosexuality, the capitalist patriarchy, and the deeply ingrained misogyny that shapes our lives down to the way our partnerships form, and feel like you are seeing the world as it is for the first time since you were a clear-eyed, idealistic teenager who brooked no bullshit. I might also tell her: You’re about to have some really great sex. She definitely wouldn’t believe that part.
I wish I could hand her a copy of Animal Instinct — which is about a woman who is recently divorced and rediscovering her sexuality and self —and tell her the truth about this novel, which is that I wrote it for her, someone who has to gather up every bit of courage and belief in herself that she can muster. The book is for other readers too, of course — from the solidly married to the perpetually single. It’s for anyone who is interested in what it means to connect with one’s truest, wildest, least-censored-for-society’s-sake self.
We write the books that we need to read, the books we wish were on the shelf and aren’t. In fact, this is exactly what I tell the novelists and memoirists I work with who feel they are losing their way — Write the book you want to read.
It’s the best advice I’ve ever gotten, and I first heard it from Marilynne Robinson way back when she was my thesis advisor, so you know it’s smart. Many writers have given some iteration of this advice. Kurt Vonnegut’s version is: “Write to please just one person. If you open the window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.”
I had to remind myself of this many times as I wrote Animal Instinct. I would sometimes lose my nerve, thinking about what critical readers and/or general haters would say. And I’d have to shake my head, clear them out (the book is not FOR them), and go back to addressing that One Reader — me five or six years ago, or some person out there who thinks they’re the only one who feels this way (about marriage, about divorce, about sex, about life, about whatever).
Maybe that reader is you. And if you’re going to get my novel and give it some hours of your life, I think I owe you the most honest and true book I can write. After all, you’re busy! (Another writing precept from Vonnegut: “Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.”)
One more thing. If you’re reading this newsletter, you’re likely a writer or creative person of some type. I would never want you to shy away from whatever truth is burning a hole in your soul.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard writers say of something they’ve written, “I could never publish this and stay married” or “I could never publish this while XYZ is still alive” or “I could never publish this and keep living in my community.” If you’re having these thoughts, consider why. Is it because you’re being a vindictive, petty asshole on the page? I’m all for that, but that’s probably best suited for a journal. It simply doesn’t make for great writing, usually, in part because it’s the kind of ranting that elides self-reflection — and god knows there’s enough unreflective ranting around lately.
If, on the other hand, you’re having these thoughts because you’ve realized that you’re living a life that is silencing you, well, I’d say that’s worth some examination.
