How Novels Bloom
As a girl, I listened to my mother’s stories about her teenage year quarantined, deathly ill and bedridden after a diagnosis of tuberculosis in St. Paul in the mid-1940s. As an adult, upon my mother’s death, I discovered for the first time I’d been adopted as a 7 month-old infant. As a writer, I’ve used my passion for story-telling to dig myself out of the mysterious hole I found myself in, regarding my own origins and family history. While I assumed the fruit of my labor (a novel) and the impetus of my personal story were separate events, I’ve learned from my debut book launch that no such separation exists.
I’d aspired to writing a novel for decades, and the mid-life news-flash that B and R weren’t my biological parents, T and C, not my biological-siblings, seemed imbedded with all sorts of material for creativity, murky as it was to begin with. In the days and nights following my older brother’s long-hidden divulgence, my mind reeled with perseverations about questions I could not answer. After all, my folks were both gone – my brother knew very little, and I had yet to find my birth mother or father.
Within a short time, the trick I’d employed since childhood to calm an anxious mind kicked in. Shannon and Eliza slipped into my dreamy fragments one of those early nights as I conjured up two women, ephemeral representations of my mother and my yet unknown birth-mother as teenagers in 1946. I would set them up as two seemingly happy sisters on the cusp of adulthood; I would give them each a life-changing tragedy to endure and overcome, and see what happened.
Those first nights as I welcomed Shannon and Eliza into my creative mind I found at least temporary peace. I’d removed myself from center-stage and indulged in creating their story and their world. I began to read accounts of young women from the period who’d gone through unwanted pregnancies, and read books and articles on the history and effects of adoption. I filled in the factual gaps of my mother’s TB and her year in quarantine with a combination of research and imaginings.
Soon, I began to frame the burning question of my identity differently. Made urgent by my own journey, but through the eyes of Shannon and Eliza I had created an opportunity to explore and understand larger questions: how might’ve young adults such as my mother and birth mother overcome their challenges in a world where religious mores increasingly clashed with societal changes? How did they succeed or fail as young women seeking greater agency in their futures?
In order to imagine my mother’s story, one sister endures tuberculosis, which was rampant at that time (as was polio). The other sister suffers an un-expected (to say the least…) pregnancy. In the 1940s Catholic Midwest, out of wedlock pregnancy was shushed and marginalized, the young girls spirited away, either to the Catholic Home for Unwed Mothers (cruelly nicknamed Watermelon Hill), the distant home of a relative, or a remote wage home, where they worked as nannies and maids in return for discreet lodging.
For some girls, I’ve learned, the well-oiled Catholic machine worked well enough. Women who were convinced by society’s norms and the church’s/family’s expectation that they couldn’t possibly keep their babies, translated into a much appreciated pathway for hopeful couples-part of the post-war rise in middle class affluence.
But in reality, not all young women wanted to give up their babies. In reality, many of the circumstances—and consequences–were painful, humiliating and unjust. Young women with any notions of keeping their babies were further ‘counseled,’ sometimes shamed, and made to feel inadequate and selfish. The men, well they were largely off the hook, given the undeniable biology of it all.
When I finally took steps to publish A Thread So Fine, the thought of blending my personal story with the launch of my debut novel made me queasy, a huge, glaring neon sign—STOP! WRONG WAY!–flashing down from my thought bubble. I’d readily shared my journey with friends and family — from the first disoriented days of a full-blown identity-crisis to actively seeking and ultimately meeting members of my birth family years later. But picking up the megaphone and doing so publicly? No thanks. On one hand, it seemed all too personal and whacky. On another, craftsman front, I felt my novel could stand on its own perfect-bound spine without the crutch of its author’s creative impetus!
But bookstore events and author interviews for A Thread So Fine have changed my perspective. As friends and strangers alike have opened up with their own stories of secrets, shame, loss and reunion, I’ve come to accept that the story of Shannon and Eliza is as much a part of my story as my mother and now discovered (and very wonderful) birth mother. It is also the story of my readers. It is the story of families and secrets and in particular, long-buried, undeserved shame born by women throughout the ages. I see now that the writer’s stories bloom into something greater when shared in the space with many voices, both fictional and real.
The real life stories of women, their children, their struggles to define family have been the true celebration of my book events, with Shannon and Eliza there, if only to cheer us on.
A THREAD SO FINE, Susan Welch
Can love for a secret child heal old wounds?
St. Paul, MN: Introspective Shannon Malone and her more popular sister Eliza are Irish twins and best friends. As little girls, they relied on each other for companionship and affection as their mother remained distant, beating back the demons of her own mysterious childhood.
In 1946, with the war finally over, womanhood approaches and both girls look forward to promising–though different–futures. But when tragedy rocks their family, silence and shame bloom, and one sister leaves, possibly forever.
Heart-broken and physically scarred, the other secretly vows to hold the invisible thread that runs deeply between them. In the course of her journey she encounters a child with a hidden past, and discovers the true meaning of family. But is it enough to bring her sister home?
“There are so many issues in this beautifully written book: unwed mothers, veterans with PTSD, violence against women, a broken family, women’s ambitions, and adoption. Welch makes her readers ache for these two sisters and their unnecessary separation for so many years. This is one of those rare novels that forces you to sit for a few minutes after you’ve finished reading it until you are ready to return to the real world.” Mary Ann Grossman, Twin Cities Pioneer Press
Twin Cities Pioneer Press Review
“In skillful, straightforward prose, Welch sets her character-driven narrative against the backdrop of postwar societal changes. Addictive…. An engaging and poignant historical fiction.” – Kirkus Reviews
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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips
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Very interesting. Do send more.