Writing The Wrong Calamity

The Wrong Calamity began twelve years ago, when I’d just moved to New York after four decades in Boston. I was applying for a play-writing workshop, and I had to write on the topic “Tell Us About Yourself” in 100 words max.

I had plenty of material. Back when I was young and insecure, I’d married a secretive, controlling man and moved to Japan with him because I saw no way out. A chance encounter led to a job at Mattel Toys Southeast Asia. As success boosted my confidence, my husband became more abusive—so much so that when we got back to the US, I grabbed our two toddlers and escaped from him in a dramatic police chase. Eventually, I attended Harvard Business School and launched a career, all while raising my daughters and fending off their vengeful father.

I struggled to reduce this to 100 words, and what’s more, this wasn’t even my whole story. Years into a happy second marriage, my husband’s buried past revealed itself, and his PTSD shattered both our marriage and me. When I moved to Manhattan, this felt more important to who I was than anything else. But I was still grieving and not yet ready to write about it.

I sent 100-word drafts to my daughters, now adults, for feedback. A version about getting my MBA despite missing a whole term seemed promising, but in the end, that part was cut. “It’s a shame you had to drop it,” one daughter said. “It’s so central to who you are.”

I was rejected for the workshop, and I moved on. But I kept thinking about my daughter’s comment. To me, the business school situation wasn’t at all central to my life. I decided that if someone who knew me so well thought it was, I would write an essay about that year of school and set the record straight. This one piece led to a whole sheaf of them, and I set my sights on publishing a collection of essays touching on a wide range of happenings throughout my life.

I sent a piece to Joyce Johnson, the much-awarded writer and editor, and was thrilled when she accepted me into her small workshopping group. Ultimately, it was Joyce who realized I wasn’t writing about a wide range of happenings at all, though I thought I was. Every piece I wrote connected to one single thread of my experience—being an insecure woman who becomes sure-footed over the course of two broken marriages, one bad, one good.

“Forget about essays,” Joyce said. “This should be a memoir.”

I was reluctant. No. Full disclosure. I was adamant. I felt committed to personal essays and would not change my mind. She persisted for weeks. Finally, I caved and agreed to try a memoir. I spread out all my essays on the living room floor, then moved them around until they were in a single row in the order I thought would be the right sequence for a book. Then I got busy at my computer. I copied and pasted the essays into a single document and started writing connective tissue to make them one smooth arc.

Over the next few years—years!—many essays ended up on the cutting room floor. Others became flashbacks or flashforwards. A two-page essay about a hat was reduced to a few lines. A short essay about my losing eighty pounds by, of all things, invoking a magic spell, became a whole chapter. I abandoned my essays. Joyce had been right. My story wanted to be a memoir.

Sometimes tears rolled down my face as I wrote, occasionally because I was re-feeling an old sadness, but more often because I was profoundly moved by all the love and support that had come my way. The very act of writing The Wrong Calamity made me realize that I’d been so overwhelmed just trying to get through each day of that part of my life, I hadn’t at the time fully appreciated  all those people who stepped in and got me over hurdles I couldn’t manage on my own. Over the years I’d lost touch with several of those people. Now I tracked down many of them. It was such a gift, letting them know how much they’d mattered.

As my book grew, new threads appeared. I couldn’t include the hat without connecting it to grief. Writing about my first marriage made me grapple with the topic of self-esteem. Far from being just about an insecure woman with two broken marriages, my story was a tangle of interconnected themes that included neglect, eating disorders, single-parenthood, domestic violence, PTSD, triumph, and the sources of resilience. I felt an obligation to untangle these threads; to be unflinchingly honest in telling my story; to provide a way for readers to relate their personal stories to mine and find inspiration for their own life journeys.

Not too long ago, I gave a public reading of an excerpt from the book. Afterward, a woman in the audience came up to me and said, “All the details were different, but you were telling my story. Now I have hope that I’ll make it through okay.”

Different details, but still her story. Our circumstances so unalike, but still, she’d been inspired. What I dreamed of when I wrote, what this reader hoped for when she read . . . fulfilled.

THE WRONG CALAMITY

Marsha, a young woman who grew up lacking self-confidence, falls prey to an administrator at her college. Afraid to say no, she agrees to marry him and move to Japan, where a chance meeting leads to a high-stakes job. As success boosts her confidence, her husband becomes more abusive. When they return to America, she escapes from him in a dramatic police chase, with their two toddlers in tow.

Determined to succeed, Marsha finds the means to go to Harvard Business School. She earns an MBA and has a significant career, all while raising her girls and fending off her vengeful ex-husband.

Later, she reconnects with Jay, a former colleague and recent widower. They marry and have many joyful years together, until Jay’s buried past reveals itself and their life together deteriorates. Dismissing the impact of his profound PTSD, Marsha insists they’ll make it through this hard time together. But when the true calamity they’re facing becomes apparent, both their marriage and Marsha are shattered. With compelling honesty, she gives voice to the often-misunderstood lived experience of grief and shares the inspiring path she took to find her way again. With time, reflection, resiliency, and the ability to recognize support when it’s offered, Marsha emerges sure-footed and able to have a happy, fulfilling life. An impactful and inspiring memoir.

BUY HERE

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Having grown up in a small Midwest town, Marsha Jacobson went to college in Boston and discovered she’s a city gal. She now lives in New York City and is an author, teacher, and writing coach. Her work has appeared in the New York Times; the Visible Ink anthology; and the flash fiction anthology, For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn. Her memoir, The Wrong Calamity, is her debut book. Previously, she was an executive in corporations and nonprofits and a consultant to nonprofits. When she’s not writing, you might find her reading in a park or cooking something out of the ordinary in her kitchen while singing along with a playlist.

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing