Tender Feelings

Today was rough. I did a book talk today at a university and I tailored my speech specifically to my brother and his special needs. The audience was so quiet while I was reading a passage from the book that I looked up to check they were awake. They were. They also had tears in their eyes. Afterwards, several people told me they were going to buy the book but they weren't sure they would be able to get all the way through it. I told them I understood their apprehension, but to try to focus on knowing it has a happy ending (as much as real life stories actually accomplish that impossible goal.)

Here's the thing about my book; it has some seriously sad parts. You can't discuss child abuse without describing it, believe me - I tried. In the earliest drafts of Ezra and Hadassah: A Portrait of American Royalty, I minimized the bad stuff because I didn't want to go there. I didn't want to have to think about my past and I especially didn't want to revisit the terrible things that happened to my brother. Going through it once as a child was more than enough, thank you very much.  

Early readers of the manuscript kept telling me the writing was too superficial and lacked details. Dang it. I was going to have to go deeper and dig up the stinky past because without acknowledging it, the story didn't make sense. I gotta say, I don't recommend writing a book as a way to heal old wounds. I had already made my peace with the past and really did not want to go back.  As I started writing the bad stuff, I got sick. As in, one minute feeling fine, the next minute throwing up in the trash can as I mentally revisited old haunts. Maybe for some people that sounds like an amazing emotional cleanse but all I got was a serious headache and stomachache that lasted for days. Any repressed trauma there? I would say so. 

Today's audience wasn't the first to tell me they weren't sure they could complete the book. In the beginning, I was offended when readers came up to me and said, "I really loved your book, but I had to quit reading it." It was too sad/intense/horrifying for them to finish it. After some time to think about it, I completely understood why they had to stop. For myself, I don't watch horror movies, (sorry Steven King - no Children of the Corn for me) movies about war prisoners, or any graphic torture. I don't enjoy watching others suffer. It is not entertainment for me. Heck, I'm so squishy about scary stuff The Wizard of Oz still makes me want to flee. Those flying monkeys are just. not. right.

So today it was hard for me to read aloud the things my brother suffered and it was hard for people to listen to. After the class ended, a couple of students told me about the pain in their childhoods and I understood what they were saying. That is the value in acknowledging hard stuff. It isn't entertainment, it isn't going to make you laugh or forget your troubles. Instead, it is going to let you know you are not alone in your suffering and should remind you that having compassion for the person sitting next to you is the only way to live.