One question people always ask me, and I imagine all novelists, is “Is it autobiographical?” Now that’s a sticky one. The obvious answer is “No. I don’t have a daughter. My husband never had an affair. No one in their right mind would ever consider me a ‘guru’ of any sort.” By and large, the things that happen to the characters in my book have not happened to me. But, if I was honest (and why not be, especially among friends) I would have to say it is all, a bit, here and there around the edges autobiographical. And that might be the same for all fiction. The dreams and fantasies that went into this act of imagining have all come from me. I might not necessarily know where they were hiding, but they were certainly inside there somewhere or they wouldn’t have been able to come out. There were always questions lurking behind everything I wrote that I did answer with sincerity and truth in order to create those situations that didn’t necessarily happen to me. Questions like, “What would I have done if I had been in that situation?” “How would I have untangled a problem such as this?” Even characters that are clearly nowhere near the Sue Guiney that is writing this now had to have impulses arising from within her. And what makes me me, anyway? Is it the sum of what I have physically done or is it the essence of what goes on inside those parts of me that create — heart, mind, call it what you will? Other writers might well disagree. But for me, this has to be the truth. It’s all autobiography, in one way or another.
And, as long as we’re interested in the truth, I do have to admit that one event in Tangled Roots is autobiographical in that it did actually happen to me — the cot death of the baby. Many of the details surrounding that event in the book are details from my life. Certainly, they appear in the book because they are important to the development of the character and the progress of the plot. But people have already asked why I wrote about my baby and how writing about it has affected me. The answer, actually, is right up front on the dedication page. It says “To Don, Alex and Noah, and finally, for Sam.” That statement was in my head long before the book was ever written. And now I know that not only is this first novel of mine “for” Sam, but my entire life as a writer is for him. By creating new characters and new words which can go on to have their own lives, I am making it up to Sam. Of course, what it has done for him is nothing. But it honestly has made all the difference to me.
I would have preferred to discuss this a bit later on, after I’ve revealed some more about the novel than I have. But April 15 marked not only the beginning of the countdown to publication, but also the anniversary of his death 21 years ago. So, of course, now is the time.
Oh Sue I’m so sorry you had to go through that!! I can’t even begin to imagine how awful that must have been!!
C x
I agree that everything we write is a part who we are. How we digest, and interpret events, even if we’ve never experienced them is what makes fiction.
What you must have gone through 21 years ago and since. Like Carol I can only imagine. Your dedication to him, both in the book and in your words here, is beautiful.
(Love the photo btw. Very chic. I think I had a hat like that too:-)
That is such an appropriate dedication.
I think we all put something of ourselves into our writing, whether consciously or subconsciously. For those of us who have experienced something traumatic or out of the ordinary, writing about it, however indirectly, can produce some of our best work, because it is truly heartfelt.
Cx
Oh Sue, how dreadful. But, yes, I think that’s the truth – it all works its way into our art.
JJx
Thanks, you guys. It means a lot to me to know that there are people like you out there who “get it”. xoxo
Oh Sue. Get it? Of course we do. xxx