The Truth as I Know It

One of the pitfalls of writing fiction is that people think you are writing about yourself. To some degree, we all are, of course. We weave facts and experiences from our own lives into our stories, and we write about issues and situations we care about. But we are still creating stories, not writing memoir.

Much of what I write about has little to do with my own life. Indeed, if I were to parse out the experiences and facts that shaped my fiction, it might surprise readers. (Well, not all things would surprise readers. I think we all can agree that I am not an old dying man, or a young man suffering from alcohol addiction, or a doctor.)

But what about the things people believe are you? The sister you must have fought with? The mother you argue with? What impression are you leaving? And as a writer, do you care?

I cared for a moment. At the end of my short story collection, in my Acknowledgments, I did note that my family is a happy one. After all, the stories would lead you to believe otherwise. My family is wonderful and supportive, and I wanted to thank them and honor us. Other than that, I decided to let it all go. I can as little control someone’s beliefs about how my writing might reflect my life as I can control their reaction to the stories themselves, and there is no point in trying. It is just a fact that once a book is released, it is no longer yours. Not really, not anymore.

I was lucky to realize this before my short story collection was published, but I came to the realization from wrestling with another manuscript. One day, driving home on a hilly road, I was thinking about a middle grade novel I had completed and that I wanted perceived a certain way, if ever published. The minute the thought came, I knew it was wrong. I crested the hill and drove down, understanding as I headed for home that people are going to decide what they think about the book, or any book, on their terms. I can only hope that I succeed in conveying what I’ve planned.

At a book club recently, there was a discussion about an event in one of the stories in my collection. Had the man had an affair, or not? Two separate but justifiable answers were batted around. After the evening was over, my friend asked me what the answer was. I said, there is no answer, not really. If you read the story, you could walk away thinking either. “But what I intended,” I said, “was this…” But some people may wonder if there was some nastiness in my family.

This isn’t to say that I don’t care about reviews and feedback. Of course I do. But I don’t worry about people viewing my personal life through the lens of my fiction. Readers will do it to some extent, and not always for negative reasons. Sometimes responses are beautiful. One friend desperately hoped one of my characters was based on fact—because she cared about the character (sadly, no. 100% fiction).

Recently another reader told me how moved she had been by one of my stories and shared her experiences with a situation like the one I had described, assuming as she did that I had experienced it. I didn’t correct her and say that I had made it all up. That wasn’t the point. The point was that she wanted to connect, and the story resonated for her, and that is a gift to any author. I simply let her share.

What I have found fascinating, though, is the things I do realize I am saying about myself, the themes and sometimes even words that pop up repeatedly, rising to the surface, saying, “These, these are the things that haunt you.” It shocked me to see in two stories in my collection the act of people laying things to rest. I hadn’t noticed before. I had already titled my book because the phrase popped up in one story. Now two? Really? How had I missed this?

And the flip side to recognizing repeated motifs and language? I remind myself, “These are ruts! Think of a new word! Expand your vision!”

Just as I’m sure there are things people think that I’ve shared about my life that are in fact actually fiction, I am sure there are things I am revealing about myself that I can’t see but are true. But just as I tell my kids when things are overwhelming, I told myself: take off that emotional backpack. Set it down. Sort through what you need and what you don’t. I want readers to love my book, of course. But if they don’t, or if they view me differently, or if they make assumptions, what is one to do?

I love to write and will never stop. Whatever truth people see in my work, let it be an emotional truth, something that helped, or inspired, or gave comfort. Let it be that the stories made people feel less alone, as one reader said of my book and which I will never forget. Let it be.

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Caitlin Hamilton Summie earned an MFA with Distinction from Colorado State University, and her short stories have been published in Beloit Fiction Journal, Wisconsin Review, Puerto del Sol, Mud Season Review, Hypertext Magazine, South85 Journal, and Long Story, Short. Her first book, a short story collection called TO LAY TO REST OUR GHOSTS, was published in August by Fomite. Most recently her poetry was published in The Literary Nest. She spent many years in Massachusetts, Minnesota, and Colorado before settling with her family in Knoxville, Tennessee. She co-owns the book marketing firm, Caitlin Hamilton Marketing & Publicity, founded in 2003.

Find her online at caitlinhamiltonsummie.com.

 

About To Lay To Rest Our Ghost

Finalist, 2017 Foreword INDIES Book of the Year Awards for Short Stories

In these ten elegantly written short stories, Caitlin Hamilton Summie takes readers from WWII Kansas City to a poor, drug-ridden neighborhood in New York, and from the quiet of rural Minnesota to its pulsing Twin Cities, each time navigating the geographical boundaries that shape our lives as well as the geography of tender hearts, loss, and family bonds. Deeply moving and memorable, To Lay To Rest Our Ghosts examines the importance of family, the defining nature of place, the need for home, and the hope of reconciliation.

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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing