A Conversation with Sari Botton

There are a few women on my radar who are spearheading a reinvention of the way we talk about personal narrative and memoir—and Sari Botton is one of them. She is a seasoned editor and the author of the memoir And You May Find Yourself... Confessions of a Late-Blooming Gen-X Weirdo.

In our conversation below, we discuss everything from the ethics of memoir and how to navigate writing about other people to how different editors define what an essay is. She raises some revolutionary points about owning our stories and the kind of language we permit ourselves to use in describing them.


 

SARI BOTTON is the author of the memoir-in-essays, And You May Find Yourself...Confessions of a Late-Blooming Gen-X Weirdo. She is a contributing editor and columnist at Catapult, the former Essays Editor for Longreads, and a former columnist for the Rumpus, where she interviewed established and new writers from Cheryl Strayed to Samantha Irby.

Sari edited the New York Times-bestselling Goodbye to All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving New York and Never Can Say Goodbye: Writers on Their Unshakable Love for New York. Her work has appeared in the New York TimesNew York Magazine, the Village VoiceHarper's BazaarMarie ClaireMore, and the Rumpus.

In addition to teaching creative nonfiction at Bay Path University and Catapult, Sari is the publisher and editor of three Substack publications: Oldster MagazineAdventures in Journalism, and Memoir Monday

 

KARIN GUTMAN: You’ve written about how you’ve navigated writing about other people, as well as interviewing authors about this thorny topic in your Rumpus column Conversations with Writers Braver Than Me.
 
How did you handle this issue with your memoir And You May Find Yourself?

 
SARI BOTTON: When it came time to actually write my book, I realized I needed to first write a vomit draft, what I call a ‘warts and all’ vomit draft with everything in it. All the bad stuff. And then once it was out of my body, out of my head on the page, only then could I blur, subtract and edit.
 
I did it. I handed in the book. That book was edited.
 
And then I went back to my editor, and I said, You know what? I have to do that again. I’ve got to do another level of extraction. I said, I'm not going to get to publish my book in 2021. It's going to be 2022. And she said, Fine. So, I went back and scrubbed it of any unnecessary, inflammatory details. I further blurred people. 
 
KARIN:  Do you feel like these changes diluted the story at all?
 
SARI:  It's still to me all true. I changed so many identifying characteristics. I really did my best to make it so that if one of these awful people who I dated read it, they'd know it was them but nobody else would know unless they already knew the story. I tended to only change your name if you were a jerk. I showed the people I care about the pieces they were in, and said, Is this okay with you? How do you want me to refer to you? Do you want me to change your name?
 
KARIN:  The ethics of memoir are deeply personal. Given how challenging these lines are for you, did you ever consider fictionalizing your story?
 
SARI:  You should write fiction because you're interested in fiction and the art and mechanics of it, not because you're trying to avoid getting in trouble for writing about your life. People will see right through that. I have an idea for a novel and a list of ideas for short stories. But I want to do those things because I want to play God with characters who do interesting things, not because I want to write a story about my relationship with people in my life in a way that they will not recognize themselves, because that's impossible.
 
KARIN:  What about a pseudonym?
 
SARI:  I created a pseudonym for myself. She has a Gmail and a Twitter account. There were a few reasons I didn't publish under that name. One is that I would be really pissed off; I have spent more than 30 years building my platform. For me to then have to hide behind a pseudonym and build that pseudonym’s platform… I wasn't up for that. There’s just something about needing to own my personal story.
 
KARIN:  Can you give an example of how you handled some of the more incendiary material?
 
SARI:  There's a piece in the book about my struggle with body image and weight and eating disorders. In the ‘warts and all’ vomit draft version, a relative makes a comment on my butt when I'm seven, and it completely traumatizes me.
 
I revised that chapter to say that “the adults around me” were really to blame. I realized that my babysitters were on diets. My teachers were on diets and made comments about their bodies and other kids’ bodies. My aunts, my uncles. My grandparents were on the Pritikin Diet, and we all knew about it. It really was the culture. 
 
So, I pulled back on my book to the point where I could make the stories, especially the most difficult ones, about cultural phenomena. Yeah, that relative was a big part of it, but it wasn't necessary for this particular story.
 
KARIN:  In the introduction you write that the purpose of this book is to say simply, “I was here, I lived.” I found that refreshing.
 
You also refer to the series of essays as “confessional” which I find can be used to describe memoir in a derogatory way. What does that word mean to you?
 
SARI:  A lot of the rules of memoir, and of all writing, were written by straight white men.
 
I just read one of Annie Ernaux’s books, and it was 60 pages. She calls herself an “Ethnographer of the Self.” I love that she won the Nobel Prize for that work, and I am all for ethnography of the self.
 
I think we need to be rewriting all the rules of all writing, including memoir and essays. I reject the idea that you can't be a victim. Roxane Gay has written about this in her memoir, Hunger: “It took a long time, but I prefer 'victim' to 'survivor' now. I don't want to diminish the gravity of what happened. I don't want to pretend I'm on some triumphant, uplifting journey. I don't want to pretend that everything is okay. I'm living with what happened, moving forward without forgetting, moving forward without pretending I am unscarred.”
 
I just had an argument the other day with a writer whom I love. She says, “There are no victims in essay and memoir.” I was like, “Yeah, we're rewriting those rules. I mean, there are victims.” 
 
I was in a writing group with some people and I stopped being in the writing group, because I wrote a story about something that happened to me when I was seven. And someone said, “You sound like a victim.” And then someone else was like, “Yeah, you don't want to sound like a victim.” I said, “I was seven. I was a victim.” Bullies have made all the rules. Bullies don't want to read victimization stories, but other victims do. 
 
When I was at Longreads, I wrote a blog post about how Elizabeth Wurtzel made it okay to write ‘Ouch’. I feel very strongly that when you've been hurt, it's okay to write ‘Ouch’. I hate false bravado.
 
I also like confessions. The reason I chose to call these confessions instead of essays is because some of the pieces in the book don't really rise to the standards of an essay collection. This is a memoir in episodes, in vignettes. I'm confessing to things that I haven't been allowed to say, that I've wanted to say, that aren't all flattering. And so, I call them confessions.
 
KARIN: You have devoted your career to personal narrative, both as a writer and as an editor.
 
SARI:  It's absolutely true. I've been involved in this since 1991.
 
KARIN:  You’ve been witness to the whole trajectory since the memoir boom of the 90s. Where do you think things are headed? 
 
SARI:  Early on, there was Prozac Nation. There was The Liar's Club. There was Angela's Ashes. There was The Kiss, Kathryn Harrison's memoir about her affair with her father. That was the beginning of the 90s memoir boom. 
 
It's been a boom bust, boom bust kind of thing.
 
Where it's headed is more previously marginalized voices are being shared. I've noticed a lot of memoirs that are written in fragments. Maggie Smith has one coming out. She's a poet. Abigail Thomas writes in fragments. It feels like she's always been writing in fragments from her first memoir, Safekeeping.
 
I tend to think unless your memoir is about a very specific turn of events, a straight narrative can be really boring because the connective tissue in between the important points in your life can make it blah.
 
I'm just finishing this memoir, which I absolutely love by Kimberly Harrington, But You Seemed So Happy. It's about the dissolution of her marriage. She alternates personal essays with humor essays, like she would have in McSweeney's or Shouts and Murmurs in the New Yorker. It's all about her marriage, but it's broken up. I've been more drawn toward episodic memoirs.
 
KARIN:  More like a memoir-in-essays?
 
SARI:  Yes. The ‘essay’ term is very broad. I have a larger understanding of what a personal essay is, but there are people who are sticklers.
 
KARIN:  What does it mean to fit the standards of an essay?
 
SARI:  I've worked with colleagues who feel very strongly that a personal essay needs to have a real argument in it.
 
KARIN:  What does that mean exactly?
 
SARI:  You're making a point with the essay, you're not just telling a story. I like to let the reader figure out what the point is. A lot of publications require an essay to have at its center an argument that you then back up with data and sources, even if it's just a very personal story.
 
I wrote an op-ed for The New York Times about when I got hit by a car. I was so stunned that people in New York were so helpful to me. The editors wanted me to bring in another instance in which somebody was hit by a car and not treated the same way as me. Also, to bring in statistics. Now that's an op-ed which is a different kind of essay, but there are editors at a lot of publications that want you to do that. With a personal essay, they want you to use your anecdote to illustrate a point. By my standards, the pieces in my book are personal essays, but again, I have a much broader definition than some editors.
 
KARIN:  What about Modern Love?
 
SARI:  I think they look for the Modern Love piece to really have a point at the center of it, even if it's not spelled out. Whereas some of mine are more like light anecdotes.
 
KARIN:  But I imagine that you, as an editor of essays, would want to know Why are you telling me this?
 
SARI:  That has to be inherent, but it doesn't have to be spelled out.
 
KARIN:  What is the difference between a long-form essay and a shorter form essay? Other than the length?
 
SARI:  My second Modern Love is 1,500 or 1,600 words, but there's a 5,000-word version of it in the book. I first wrote the 5,000-word version long before I had a book deal. I struggled to sell it and then I thought, I’ll try and do a Modern Love version. I did, and I sold it.
 
Some of it has to do with where you want to publish it. A great exercise is to have different versions of your piece that can go in different places and also amplify different aspects of the same story. 
 
It's harder to publish long-form right now. There are fewer and fewer venues. These days, Longreads is primarily a curation site with occasional long-form personal essays; where I used to publish three a week, they're now publishing maybe one a month. And Catapult just folded. It's hard to publish a 5,000-word essay, unless it's in your book. So, it might be worth your while to come up with a 1,200-word version for the Washington Post or the Huffington Post—a shorter version that could maybe even help you get a book deal, and then you put the longer version in the book.
 
KARIN:  What is your advice to writers who have a story they’re feeling reluctant to tell?
 
SARI:  I encourage you to write the version that you can't publish first. There's something valuable in getting it out of your head and out of your body. Something happens when it's a secret in your body, you don't have any perspective on it. And you can't until you get it out of your body and onto the page where you can see it. 
 
Then once it’s out of your body, take a break from it. Give yourself a couple of weeks, then come back to it. Let yourself have the experience of having it out of your body. There's something that happens in that early draft, some kind of neurological thing that permits you to gain perspective, that you can't have when it's just this thing you're not allowed to tell.



Buy the book

To learn more about Sari Botton visit her site.

See all interviews

 

Oldster Magazine explores what it means to travel through time in a human body—of any gender, at every phase of life. It focuses on the good, the bad, and the ugly we experience with each milestone, starting early in life. It’s about the experience of getting older, and what that means at different junctures.


Adventures in Journalism features the highlights and lowlights* (*mostly lowlights) from one Gen X lady writer's rather circuitous career path.

Looking for a quick route toward success as a writer? Allow Sari Botton to demonstrate what not to do, over the course of 30-plus hilarity-(in hindsight)-filled years.


Each week, the editors of certain literary publications select their very favorite new personal essay or memoir piece, and you can find them all collected in the Memoir Monday newsletter—along with details about upcoming readings.

Inside features: First Person Singular features original published essays, and The Lit Lab offers perspectives on craft, publishing, publicity, and more.

 

A Conversation with Charlotte Maya

The birthing process of a book is... well, a process. It starts with the seed of an idea, goes through story development, into a first draft, followed by many rewrites, and then hopefully, eventually, it makes its way into the world, into the hands of readers.

Today a special book hits the shelves: Sushi Tuesdays: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Family Resilience by Charlotte Maya. I have been privileged to be on this book birthing journey with Charlotte through the story coaching and editing process, which she shares about in the video below. It is deeply rewarding to support a book that I know will affect the hearts and minds of those who read it; a book that handles the very difficult subject of suicide with remarkable skill and humanity.

The book launch event for Sushi Tuesdays is taking place this evening at 7pm at Vroman's in Pasadena (offsite venue: All Saints Church). Come join me!

Scroll down to read my interview with Charlotte where she talks about the writing life and what it's like to work with a publicist in preparation for her book launch.


Charlotte Maya writes about suicide loss, resilience, and hope. Widowed at thirty-nine, when her children were six and eight, Charlotte explores the intersections of grief, parenting, and self-care in her writing—particularly within the context of suicide. Her work has been highlighted in Hippocampus Magazine and The New York Times. Sushi Tuesdays: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Family Resilience is her first book.

Charlotte lives in Southern California with her family. She received her B.A. from Rice University and her J.D. from UCLA.

Read Charlotte's Modern Love essay When A Doorbell's Ring Means Hope.

 

In the above video, Charlotte Maya shares about her experience through the Story Coaching process. Learn more about one-on-one story coaching.

 

KARIN GUTMAN:  Tell us about the story behind your debut memoir Sushi Tuesdays.
 
CHARLOTTE MAYA:  The short story is that I was widowed to suicide when my kids were six and eight. I had no idea that Sam was suicidal. So, a large part of the story is trying to figure out where I had failed him, where he had failed himself, and how to heal and move forward. It was really important to me that his death didn't define my life; but then it was impossible for it not to. I did accidentally fall in love again. My now husband had also been widowed and has two kids.
 
As far as crafting the story, it was really important to me that the book didn't end with a fairytale ending because, in my opinion, the grief doesn't really end. There's not a point at which you're done. It's important for people to understand that even though we are living lives with joy and passion and the kids are doing well, we all have our struggles. This kind of loss reverberates, and in some ways, changes who you are. We simply continue to carry that loss with us in a way that doesn't hamper our forward movement. But we don't forget, we don't get over it. We learn to carry it. 
 
It's important for people to know that we do still honor Sam. He made a mistake, and by that I mean, he did not reach out for help. But how he died does not define the whole of who he was. I also had to get to a point where I realized I could continue to live my life in a way that honored myself and honored him. Part of that was becoming the writer who could tell the story.
 
KARIN:  I know you started writing your story with a blog. How did you move from blogging to writing a full-length book?

CHARLOTTE: When I was writing my blog, I had all these posts. I printed them all out and had several 100 pages. I read it and it wasn't a book. I didn't know how to turn that stack of pages into a cohesive story. Then I heard a podcast where they said, “Just because you've read 100 books doesn't mean you can write one. That's why you need a book coach.” What I need now is a book coach, I thought. I was in your workshop and so that was easy for me to call you because I already knew you. I already trusted you. 
 
I didn't have a journalism background. I had a law degree and an English degree. I hadn't ever contemplated being a creative writer. I didn't have an MFA. I felt like my work with you was a mini MFA. It was so exciting to learn about story structure and character arc and how things work. I enjoyed reading, but I didn't really peek under the hood.
 
KARIN:  Suicide is a challenging topic. It feels to me like your story is coming out at a time when people are more open to discussing mental health.
 
CHARLOTTE:  From the beginning, there was a feeling that I have a story to tell, and I believe people want to read about the story. Even though suicide is hard to talk about, and sometimes people clam up, my personal experience showed me that people really wanted to talk about it. People were always asking me questions, and they might say, “If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay.” But I did want to talk about it. Because I feel so strongly that talking about suicide is the way to reduce suicides and to reduce the stigma that surrounds not just the people who have died by suicide, but also those of us who are mourning the loss of somebody who has died by suicide. By destigmatizing, it opens up a place for people to be vulnerable and ask for help when they need it.
 
KARIN:  You’ve described writing as a really expensive hobby. What have you spent money on?
 
CHARLOTTE:  I've spent money on workshops. I've spent money on book coaches. I've spent money on writing retreats. I have spent money on building a website. I have spent money on hiring a publicist. I did not self-publish, so I did not spend money on that. I continue to spend money on workshops. I think it's really helpful for perspective. It can be hard to see out from the work and somebody else's feedback can be very clarifying. Offering notes to other people is also clarifying, like a muscle you exercise.
 
KARIN:  How has writing affected your professional life?
 
CHARLOTTE:  My husband and I have a business. I used to go into the office three days a week. Now I go in twice a week, and my other days are my writing days. I have been much more intentional about how I spend my time. I am not one of those writers who gets up and writes from five to nine. I have always prioritized my kids, and that's prime parenting time until they are off at school. My schedule is easier now that the kids are all launched or launching. Still, I will very rarely not answer the phone when they call.
 
But I am better at getting my butt in the chair and getting something done. I'm better at writing what is very drafty, knowing that it needs to be revised. Giving myself a little bit more space to get bad work done, because that counts. It all counts. I'm better at understanding that now. I feel like I now understand the process that I'm in, which parts I get to control and which parts I don't get to control. I get to control sitting down, getting something written. I get to control revising it. I get to control workshopping it with other people and revising it again. I can choose to submit it. After that, I've done my work. And so, I'm a little less attached to the result. 
 
I'm getting better at being rejected. I think that's a good thing because it is less of a defining factor in whether I'm going to get my butt in the chair again. Validation is great and acceptances are thrilling. I'm not saying that they're not. But if those become defining, then the opposite is also defining, right? Not every piece of writing is for every publication, and that's okay. I always hope that the writing and the audience will find each other, but they are not things I can totally control. 
 
It’s similar to why kids play sports. You can’t control the wins and losses. Wins come or they don’t. But the teamwork. That's something important that we take away with us. Doing your best, that's what counts. There's a lot of really good writing out there, that may or may not be on bestseller lists or on the tip of everybody's tongue.
 
KARIN:  How long was the publishing process for you?
 
CHARLOTTE:  I sold it in February of 2022. When I signed the contract, my editor said, “I want books in hands this time next year.” And she made it happen. My impression is that there are a lot of things that can slow down the book, from signed contract to completed book on shelves. We were able to stay right on track with deadlines all the way through, but even so, I think it's lightning speed.
 
That also informed some other decisions. She wanted to go straight to trade paperback, which we did. That's something I hadn't really thought about—hardback or paperback? She had some strong feelings, because she wanted the book to be accessible and paperback is cheaper to produce, and as a result, more affordable for buyers to purchase. That was really important to her. And it has always been important to me, so those kinds of decisions were very straightforward for me
 
KARIN:  With regard to the book launch, what are you excited about and what are you nervous about?
 
CHARLOTTE:  I'm nervous about interviews. And I'm excited about interviews. I'm nervous about time limits, because I feel like we could talk for an hour and may only have 10 or 15 minutes.
 
KARIN:  Is your publicist helping you prepare?
 
CHARLOTTE:  Yes, she does help with a media training session.
 
KARIN:  What is it like to work with a publicist?
 
CHARLOTTE:  I didn't realize that I needed to hire a publicist of my own, and that in and of itself felt a little disheartening, because I didn't understand why the publisher didn't cover that base. The publisher does do quite a bit. They send the manuscript out for reviews and get it in their catalogs and get my Amazon author page up. So, there's a lot of behind the scenes work to connect the book to potential readers. I hired Kim Dower because she has a lot of experience in LA, and it made sense to me to have a Los Angeles publicist.
 
I did not realize that you have to pitch your publicist, the same way you pitch an agent and a publisher. They all wanted to read the book first, before deciding whether or not to work with me. So that was a little intimidating. It makes sense because you want a publicist who's going to be on the front lines of trying to get people to read this book, trying to get people to schedule an interview. It made sense afterwards, but I was surprised they got to decide if my book was good enough for me to pay them. I think it's especially hard for a first-time writer too, because I don't have a built-in audience. I have a couple hundred followers. I do not have a big platform.
 
KARIN:  How does the publicist work with you as the pub date approaches?
 
CHARLOTTE:  She now has my calendar, and she is the one who has scheduled different podcast interviews or radio interviews. She put together a press release, which she has used to place advertising in different news venues and get people interested in hosting an interview. So, I have several interviews scheduled now around publication date.
 
She's very straightforward about setting expectations and really good at bouncing ideas off of too. I graduated from La Cañada High School, and in fact graduated from high school with the person who now owns the local paper. So, I said, “Should we send the press release to the local paper?” and she said, “That's a great idea. I'm on it.” So, today's paper has a little blurb in it. That's the kind of thing that I wouldn't have known how to do by myself.
 
Having a publicist also gives me a certain level of credibility. Because she has read the book, she has perspective on how it fits into the larger world of books. My publisher has so many books that they're working on, and publicists tend to only take on a few clients at a time.
 
KARIN:  Whom do you imagine to be your ideal reader?
 
CHARLOTTE:  People often tell me that they want to send my book to people who have lost someone to suicide. And while I hope that it resonates with those people, I really hope it resonates with people who don't have such an intimate relationship with suicide, but are open-hearted enough to want to learn about it. I think it will actually be more helpful for people who haven't had an intimate suicide experience, because I think it will take a lot of the fear and stigma away from understanding that suicide is just like any other illness. It just looks so much uglier from the outside.
 
Suicide is a disease. I hope that readers come away from this book with a renewed appreciation for all of our shared humanity. That it humanizes Sam, that it humanizes me, and gives us all space to be glitchy, beautiful people.

If you are having thoughts of suicide, call or text 988 to reach the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.



Buy the book

To learn more about Charlotte Maya visit her site.

See all interviews

A Conversation with Rebecca Woolf

I am excited to share the thought-provoking conversation I had with Rebecca Woolf, author of All of This: A Memoir of Death and Desire. We talked about the return to long-form blogging on Substack, the question of boundaries and secrets and shame when writing memoir, and reinventing story structure through a female lens. This woman needs to do a TEDTalk!

Rebecca will be signing books at the grand opening of Zibby's Bookshop on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica the weekend of February 18th & 19th. Come on down to check it out and meet some other local authors including Leslie Lehr, Terri Cheney, Hope Edelman, Claire Bidwell Smith, Annabelle Gurwitch, among others, including Zibby Owens herself!


REBECCA WOOLF has worked as a freelance writer since age 16 when she became a leading contributor to the hit 90s book series, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul.

Since then, she has contributed to numerous publications, websites and anthologies, most notably her own award-winning personal blog, Girl’s Gone Child, which attracted millions of unique visitors worldwide. 

She has appeared on CNN and NPR and has been featured in The New York Times, Time Magazine and New York Mag.

She lives in Los Angeles with her son and three daughters.

After years of struggling in a tumultuous marriage, Rebecca Woolf was finally ready to leave her husband. Two weeks after telling him she wanted a divorce, he was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. Four months later, at the age of 44, he died.

In her memoir All of This, she chronicles the months before her husband’s death—and her rebirth after he was gone. With rigorous honesty and incredible awareness, she reflects on the end of her marriage: how her husband’s illness finally gave her the space to make peace with his humanity and her own.

 

KARIN GUTMAN:  You began writing as a blogger and now you’re on Substack. What do you think of this relatively new platform for writers?
 
REBECCA WOOLF:  I just posted my first post this morning, and I had this feeling of, Oh my God, am I going to do this again? So many mixed feelings. It's a really interesting moment to talk about memoir because I’ve been doing it all my life, obviously, but I'm going back to my roots of blogging.
 
KARIN:  All of the people I’m following on Substack were original bloggers.
 
REBECCA:  I think there's a return. We're seeing the social media platforms implode and realizing that our content doesn't belong to us when it's on other websites. It's different when it's in your own space, and I think it's brilliant.
 
KARIN:  What was it like when you were first starting out?
 
REBECCA:  I started writing memoir in my teens. I wrote for a book series called Chicken Soup for the Soul, which was a very big in the 90s. I wrote for The Teenage Soul. I submitted a story in middle school. It was published and then they had me submit more pieces. I was writing about my personal life, so all my heartbreaks ended up in books. Everything that's ever happened to me that's been painful has been written about and publicly displayed for my whole life.
 
KARIN:  What have you learned about boundaries, if anything?
 
REBECCA:  My job is a litmus test for the people who are and aren't in my life anymore. When your job is to write about your personal life, you are a liability to the people who love you. There are people who have been with me for their whole lives, and my kids are very used to it, but yeah, that's definitely a question. It's like, where are the boundaries?
 
But that's how I started, as a blogger in 2001. I didn't go to college. I went straight to work for The Teenage Soul series at 18. I wrote, edited, and ghost wrote pretty much the entirety of three different books. It was just me under 15 different names.
 
KARIN:  Wow, really?
 
REBECCA:  They needed content and they didn't want it to seem like it was one person writing a whole book. Those books, by the way, make 10s of millions of dollars and contributors made $200. It was my job to go through submissions for years, and basically my boss ended up saying, I like the way you write better. So, I would just write stuff under different names. I had a whole series of a teenage boy and a teenage girl writing back and forth to each other, and I was both of them. I was writing about my personal stories under my name. That was nonfiction. But I was writing under pseudonyms about other issues. And that was fiction.
 
KARIN:  How did your writing career evolve from there?
 
REBECCA:  I started my blog Girl’s Gone Child in 2005, a few months after my son was born. I got pregnant unexpectedly at 23 with a person that I barely knew, married in Vegas, and suddenly went from being this single partying, traveling person to a married mother with a child in Los Angeles. None of my friends were nowhere near having kids.
 
I started my blog as a way of hopefully finding my people, or if not, just talking about my experience. Anytime I feel alone or isolated or like there's nobody who understands me, I write about it, because when you do that you actually find people who do. That's always been my bat signal to the world—writing about my discomfort or loneliness.
 
Shame keeps a lot of people from writing. One of my first stories was called I Kiss Like A Horse, which I wrote for Chicken Soup based on the fact this boy who I had kissed in 10th grade told everyone that I kissed like a horse. Not only did that rumor mortify me as a 14 or 15-year-old, but what I did was, I wrote an entire essay about it that was published in 15 different languages worldwide. So, I took a moment that would have otherwise been mortifying, and I said to myself, This makes me feel like shit, which means it's going to help someone else. That has been the heart of my work my whole life.
 
KARIN:  What a great way to deal with shame. What was your angle?
 
REBECCA:  It lands with this acceptance of having no control over what people say about me. I know who I am. And if I kiss like a horse, I'm going to wear it with pride.
 
KARIN:  What was it like being a blogger in the early 2000s?
 
REBECCA:  The internet was very punk rock at that time. It felt like you were making an online zine. We all did our own HTML. There was no such thing as algorithms. We embedded videos that we took on our digital cameras, that we edited ourselves. It was very DIY, so growing an audience felt really organic.
 
I was fortunate to be one of the first mommy bloggers and amassed a pretty large audience pretty quickly. From there, I got a book deal and launched Babel, which was a big parenting site in the mid to late aughts. They launched with three bloggers, and I was one of them. I was at the forefront of all the parenting writing spaces, so I was doing work for any parenting site that launched. If it wasn't contributing as a columnist or an essayist, it was consulting.
 
The ad guys realized there was a lot of money to be made from the mommy bloggers. I started making really good money.
 
KARIN:  How did that work exactly?
 
REBECCA:  It started with banner ads, and then it went to sponsored posts. You would get, say, a retainer with Target.
 
KARIN:  Were you transparent with your audience?
 
REBECCA:  In those days, everyone was. I don't think people are as transparent as they used to be. It was a big deal. You had to put on top of every post, “This is sponsored by Graco,” or whatever.
 
KARIN:  How did you manage working while raising four kids?
 
REBECCA:  Yeah, I had help. I had a nanny when my twins were little for the first few years. With my other kids, it was basically just me at home with a kid on my lap, figuring it out. I had sitters coming here and there when I needed them. I was super transparent about that, too. I think it was far more transparent those days than it is now. I don't think people talk about that.
 
KARIN:  What was the turning point?
 
REBECCA:  The money dried up, because the money started going to influencers. I'm not going to do Tik Tok videos. No dig on people who do that, it’s just, I was a writer.
 
I don't know a single person who was blogging long-form in the early aughts, who turned into an influencer of any kind. Nobody.
 
That's why Substack is exciting, because it's a return to the original space, which was writers writing and people reading our work because we were good writers. We weren't just writing pithy captions. It was really about storytelling and transparency and being honest about experiences. Not this hyper glossy, super filtered stuff.
 
On Substack I can charge people. It's $7 a month. I will publish some for free, but I'm going to publish anything that's explicit or super personal behind a paywall. You can't comment unless you are subscribed. That feels good to me. I’ve subscribed to a bunch of writers and I pay for all of the ones I subscribed to because I want to support people.
 
The return to these longer-form platforms is exciting because it means the work is going to start to speak for itself, and it's not about where you're publishing or how many followers you have, this bullshit that everyone's trying to sell you.
 
This Twitter thing is so interesting to me. It's like watching this thing fall—the hubris of male mediocrity who somehow became empowered. It's like eating popcorn.
 
KARIN:  Let’s talk about your memoir All of This: A Memoir of Death and Desire. I find your voice and writing style so accessible. I really enjoy the way you move back and forth, in time and place, with digestible pieces that are seamlessly woven.
 
REBECCA:  Thank you.
 
KARIN:  How did you figure that out?
 
REBECCA:  The name of my Substack is “The Braid,” which was the way I looked at this book. I didn’t know this, but traditional story structure is based on a male orgasm. The climax and the resolution are huge.
 
It broke open my brain because that’s every story I've ever read. It’s the structure that I've been taught. My whole life is based on that shit, and of course I can't write my book like that. That's not how how I cum. I just kind of fall asleep. 
 
So, I had this epiphany about my own desire, my own body, and storytelling as a woman. How was I going to tell a story as a woman? What would my format look like? There isn't a climax and a resolution. That is not how my life looks. Is that honest? Whenever something happens, we're looking for the resolution. We're looking for the ‘aha’ moment. We're trying to find this device that, by the way, was created by some dude who said, This is is how I orgasm.
 
I remember my editor coming back and saying, I think this is your ending. I said, No, I don't think so. In fact, the first draft had three different endings like Choose Your Own Adventure—this idea that there are multiple climaxes and that just because I have one doesn't mean I'm done. I'm like, Wait, I can have another one, like I can still go, I'm not tired yet. That to me felt accurate to my experience, as a person, as a woman, as a sexual being at this point in my life. I'm not here for one ending. I'm not here for one climax. I'm here for all of them.
 
So, I had this come to Jesus moment about how I was going to format my book. What I kept coming back to was the braid—what the braid looked like and what it represented for me. 
 
The story that I wanted to tell does have three parts—the beginning, middle and end—that's legit. There are three parts, but they overlap with each other. The end is its own thing, too. It's the loose hairs of the braid that fall down the back.
 
It's a memoir. I don't know how you tie up loose ends. There is no end. You're still here, life is still happening. So, this idea of having to punctuate your ending feels really false. I'm really aware of endings and making sure that they're open and loose. That to me feels authentic.
 
KARIN:  I’m a fan of the braided structure and weaving the different story threads.
 
REBECCA:  I don't know if you've read Carmen Maria Machado. If you haven't, she's an incredible writer who wrote the memoir In the Dream House. I highly recommend it because you've never read anything like it. It’s basically told in little vignettes.
 
It feels like you're going through drawers, opening them up and seeing what's inside and closing them. I realized how rare it is to pick up a book and to recognize that its format is something you've never felt before—to be inspired not only by what you're reading but also by the way it's formatted. It's like, Oh my god, I can write a book like this. We get so bogged down by rules, and when you read someone who's breaking them all and killing it, it feels really exciting.
 
KARIN:  What was your writing process like?
 
REBECCA:  My process was super messy. I probably wrote the bulk of this book on my kitchen floor and on my notes app. I don't know what it is about the kitchen floor. I pretty much wrote it all in real time.
 
My book is about when my husband was diagnosed with stage four cancer, right after I told him that I wanted to divorce. He died four months later. So, I spent four months taking care of a man that I wanted to leave, and when he died, I felt a lot of conflicting feelings including relief because I was miserable in my marriage. But as a widow, I felt like I couldn't talk openly about that. I felt guilty for even feeling those things.
 
When I started this book, I basically went through my notes app and emailed myself every single one and put it all in a document. There were a lot of fragments, and I was trying to put together a mosaic based on all these little pieces. It was as if I had written hundreds of short essays.
 
The first draft of this book was twice as long as the published version. When I turned my book in to my editor, it read 800 pages. 110,000 words. She responded with, Your contract is for 65,000 words. I turned in a book that literally needed to be cut in half. I remember talking to her on the phone. I was in the parking lot at Trader Joe's and just burst into tears, because I was like, Oh my god, how the fuck am I going to cut this in half? I did cut half of it. I really stand by what remains, because I basically had to Sophie's Choice my whole book.
 
I'm glad that I didn't read the contract, because I think it made me a better writer. I think that so much of writing is editing.
 
KARIN:  How did people in your life react to your book?
 
REBECCA:  When you have people in your life that love you and support you unconditionally, you can write about anything. If you're writing a memoir, you are going to hurt people, but it is not on you to protect them from your truth.
 
I recently had another epiphany about the locked diary. Who does the locked diary protect? I grew up in the 80s as a small child and every one of my friends was given locked diaries—all the girls. My brother never got a locked diary. At the time it was like, yeah, you lock the diary. Keep your secrets safe.
 
I'm wondering more and more about this idea of secrecy. Who are we protecting? Who are we keeping safe?
 
I don't write to protect people from my truth. If you have a problem with it, if it's upsetting to you, or if you don't agree with me, that's not my problem. I've spent a lot of years protecting people, mainly men, and I don't need to do that anymore.
 
You have to be not only prepared but also welcoming to every feeling, from every person, and validating all of it. I have reached out to everyone in my family—they knew I was writing this book—saying, I understand if this is going to be hard for you. If you don't want to talk to me, if you feel uncomfortable, I validate your feelings. I love you. I have to write this book.
 
Allowing people to react negatively and giving them the space to do that and have those feelings is really important, because they're entitled to their feelings as much as you're entitled to your truth. They're entitled to the reaction to your work as much as you're entitled to doing the work.
 
KARIN:  I noticed that you use the royal “we” in your writing, as if including the reader in your experience. Are you aware of that?
 
REBECCA:  I've been writing for 20 years, and a lot of the people who were with me 20 years ago still are, and we're still having these conversations behind the scenes. The “we” feels inclusive to those who aren't able to articulate their stories or don't feel like they can talk openly about their experiences. I feel like I'm speaking for them.
 
Through writing this book, I found out a huge secret about two very close women in my family. Both of them shared these major, life-changing secrets with me, and I realized, Oh, I carry their stories in my body. I come from these women, they're in my body.
 
So much of my willingness to write about what I wrote about was informed by the fact that I was carrying the secrets of these women in my body and that they trusted me with those secrets. As much as I was writing for me, I was writing for them too. I'm not trying to sound like a martyr hero, it's just that when we are sitting down to write our truth, we're not just writing it for us. Otherwise we would be writing it in our notebook and not sharing it with anybody. There's something in us that recognizes that our story is going to be relatable and helpful. A love letter to somebody else. 
 
So I think the “we” is acknowledging that there are people on the other side of your work who are going to see you and feel seen by what you're saying. So much of memoir writing is this gift to some relationship, like you're sharing yourself with someone and it does feel like a “we” to me.



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