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About the author and blogger ...

Anne Goodwin’s drive to understand what makes people tick led to a career in clinical psychology. That same curiosity now powers her fiction.
A prize-winning short-story writer, she has published three novels and a short story collection with small independent press, Inspired Quill. Her debut novel, Sugar and Snails, was shortlisted for the 2016 Polari First Book Prize.
Away from her desk, Anne guides book-loving walkers through the Derbyshire landscape that inspired Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre.
Subscribers to her newsletter can download a free e-book of award-winning short stories.

TELL ME MORE

What makes us who we are?

25/4/2017

20 Comments

 



What do you think has most shaped your identity? Is it the genetic code inherited from your parents? Is it the culture into which you were born? Is it the way you were
nurtured or not in infancy? Okay, a single blog post can’t begin to answer those questions but, with an overdue book review, a memoir and flash fiction prompt deadlines looming, I’m set to dip into the terrain.

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There isn’t a great deal to envy in Shona’s life right now. Okay, she has a roof over her head, but she shares a bed with her five-year-old and can’t use the downstairs front room because her estranged husband’s locked her out. Okay, she has children but the middle one died, her youngest doesn’t know his father and her teenaged daughter thinks she’s a slag. Okay, she has a wider family but her Uncle Jimmy is a dodgy antiques dealer and her mother thinks she’s cursed by the devil. Add in the interfering friend, the lover who can’t take responsibility and the young man squatting in her shed, who thinks he’s a shaman but might be mentally ill, and we know things are bound to get worse before they can get better.

Sarah Armstrong’s second novel is a story of parenthood, domestic abuse, transgenerational trauma and belief in the supernatural, such that “they all listened to completely different stories made from the same words” (p289). Published by Sandstone Press, it didn’t captivate me quite as much as her debut, The Insect Rosary, but is nevertheless a satisfying read.

Charli Mills has been musing on the
origin stories transmitted through cultures, both formal and less so. In The Devil in the Snow, Shona has struggled to shrug off the family curse that has blighted the women in her bloodline. While she recognises the family myth as fantasy, she feels caught in its grip when history repeats itself.
Shona’s mother felt safer when it snowed because then she could see the devil’s footprints. Late April might seem an odd time of year for me to be thinking of snow, but it turns out that, having had none all winter, a few showers are forecast for this week, underlining the difficulty of
using the seasonal variations to mark time in fiction.

Of course, we Brits are renowned for our addiction to discussing the weather. As
a gardener, keen walker and advocate of drying the laundry outside, I’m very alert to the fluctuations in sun, wind and rain. But I hadn’t asked myself when I first noticed the weather as a child until I read Irene Waters’ post for April’s Times Past collective memoir project. Now, while it’s possible I’m influenced by Sarah Armstrong’s novel, I do think my first memory of weather having a significant impact is of snow when I was seven years old.

Snow capped the fells most winters, but it rarely reached our coastal town. So it took everyone by surprise when, by early afternoon, the snow lay deeper than a child’s shoes. When the headmistress closed school early did she think through the logistics, when few families possessed a telephone, of getting the children home?

At seven, I usually walked the two miles there and back with my (reluctant) older brother. But when I waited, and waited a little longer and he hadn’t appeared, some teacher decided I should take the school bus. I recall the shame of having to borrow the penny for the fare.

But it wasn’t for poverty that we didn’t use the bus, it was because the route didn’t pass very close to our house. Not only that, it meandered through a part of town unfamiliar to me, rendered even stranger by the blanket of snow. Wherever it dropped me, I still had quite a hike.

I trudged home to find my brother sitting snug by the fire. He hadn’t walked or taken a (nonexistent) different bus. My dad had clocked off work early to collect us by car. Pity they didn’t wait for me.

I hoped I might be able to squeeze this story into ninety-nine words, but it’s taken (exactly) twice that amount. It’s also reminded me of
my aversion to telling a story through memoir (although I did enjoy my memories of Dhaka) – and yet there’s something that compels me to join in! I think this memory from childhood has story potential, especially as it lends itself to different interpretations (childhood resilience versus neglect), but hard for me personally to relate it well. How do you write well about a painful memory? How do you write well when you can’t remember every detail but can’t make things up? (Actually I cheated on the bus fare – I can’t recall how much it cost. And I’ve no idea my brother where my brother was when I got home. See what I mean? How can you not fill in the gaps?) Even though it’s twice the length I wanted, I also find it hard to let this piece stand alone, defensive about both my own interpretation of its meaning as well as the reputation of my dad.
Some memories are better managed in therapy than on a blog. But some people consider therapy an indulgence (although I’m not sure what’s wrong with an indulgence that has fewer calories than a cream cake and is far better value for money) or narcissistic navel gazing. However, it’s my view that an understanding of one’s own early attachment experiences can help us live effectively, and even happily, in the here and now. Yet, until I read Charli’s post and prompt to write a 99-word navel story, it hadn’t struck me how apt the navel gazing metaphor is for the therapy experience of examining our early years, months or, for some of us, hours. (For another flash on the theme of therapy follow the link.)

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Gazing into her navel

“Where should I start?”
“Wherever you like.”
She blushes, gazes down at herself pointedly. Was it sex? (It’s always sex.)
“There’s no rush. You’ve already taken the most important step by coming here.”
She hesitates. Opens her mouth and closes it again. I’d like to make it easier for her, but she has to find her own way.
She strokes her abdomen. Pregnancy ambivalence? But she isn’t showing. Yet.
Through her thin T-shirt she dips her middle finger into her belly button. “It might sound stupid,” she says, “but I’ve felt all wrong since the day I was born.”

Thanks for reading. I'd love to know what you think. If you've enjoyed this post, you might like to sign up via the sidebar for regular email updates and/or my quarterly Newsletter.
20 Comments
Lisa @ The Meaning of Me link
26/4/2017 12:13:22 am

I love reading a blog post and finding new books to check out. Thanks!
Nice take on the navel-gazing prompt.

Reply
Annecdotist
27/4/2017 09:09:44 am

Thanks, Lisa, plenty of new books to check out on my blog ;-)

Reply
Deborah Lee link
26/4/2017 03:43:01 am

A different sort of navel-gazing, and often much more productive and necessary, I think! (I also sympathize with the patient's complaint.)

Reply
Annecdotist
27/4/2017 09:10:44 am

Thanks, Deborah, glad you agree it's productive despite the awkwardness – especially at the beginning.

Reply
Norah Colvin link
26/4/2017 01:20:17 pm

Hi Anne. Your opening paragraph is a bevy of conversations waiting to happen. I'm sure we could find enough material for a good one or two. Epigenetics seems to be adding even more to "why I am the way I am" story.
I don't think Shona's life has much going for her at all, though I understand the quote about all hearing different messages from the same words.
I can't believe your father would pick up your brother and not you!!!! What was he thinking? What a scary experience for a seven-year-old. It is was interesting to read your thoughts about writing memoir and the need to not misrepresent your father. Memoir certainly has its own set of difficulties.
I enjoyed your therapy flash. Don't most of us think, at some stage, we were delivered to the wrong family at birth? Who ever does feel as if they belong? Any thinking person?
Great post for reflection.

Reply
Annecdotist
27/4/2017 09:25:07 am

Thanks, Norah, it is something of a “life, everything and the universe” opening but the idea was clearer in my head when it first came to me than when I found the time to write it.
Who knows what was going on in my father’s head? It might have been that, within all the chaos, he assumed someone else would have picked me up (although there was no obvious person). Or perhaps it was part of his general attitude to childcare that, aside from providing the money we lived on (a not insubstantial achievement), his input was optional.
I think this effort has brought me to the conclusion (although I do have the capacity to change my mind) that the challenges of memoir outweigh the benefits for me. I can convey more “truthful” characters in fiction.
And glad you liked the flash. While I certainly felt I wasn’t the right fit for my family, I’m not sure the feeling is entirely universal, unless as a temporary state when the child is particularly angry or thwarted. In my current WIP one of my characters was adopted as a baby and, although circumstances lead her to curiosity about her biological parents, she’s actually quite secure in her family.
But I tried to go a bit further than that in my flash – although it’s always going to be hard to unravel, I think a traumatic birth can also impact on our characters. I do worry for the psychological well-being of those premature babies who start life under-ripe and require invasive treatment.

Reply
Charli Mills
27/4/2017 02:49:32 am

Out of all the rich selections you offer up, Ann, from review to reflection on the challenges of memoir to your flash, this sentence grabbed me most: "...the snow lay deeper than a child’s shoes." That describes the snow in a great act of foreshadowing. All I could think of is how poor a child's shoe is to ward off unexpected snow. It makes me think how an adult only thought of his bigger shoes in the snow, brushing off the ordeal for a younger child. Ah, but there I go adding to the gap in the story, wondering how a father could pick up one child and not the other? Memory has the kind of gaps that beckon fiction, to complete the story. As I suspect the character in your flash is trying to figure out hers and feels where it starts.

Reply
Annecdotist
27/4/2017 09:41:16 am

I’m glad you liked that line, Charli, as I struggled with it (should it be “deeper” or “higher”, should it be more specific about the part of the shoe, but “top” seemed too general) but it seems to have done its job. I’m quite happy with how you’ve filled in the gaps but it exemplifies my difficulty with memoir, as an equally valid interpretation “the parents must have been frantic” compounds my sense of abandonment. I don’t like writing that tells the reader what to think and feel, but my personal history is too fragile for me to take the risk of perfectly valid but painful interpretations.
I think the other gap this memory raises is how and whether it became part of the stories the family told itself about its ups and downs (I have no memory of it doing so). And, interestingly, I don’t think I ever told my real-life therapist this story – but that’s probably because I had a wealth of stories of what felt like greater abandonment.

Reply
Charli Mills
30/4/2017 01:17:08 am

Thank you for sharing your thought process on that line! "Deeper" seems to be the better word because it gives the sense of sinking, a potential danger or even emotional state. The phrase "...a child's shoes..." is so starkly simple. And specific like "tops of a child's shoes" would lose the impact. Very Hemmingway-esque!

As to the painful stories and gaps in memories, I often want to find validation. I'd want to know why I felt abandoned. But that's such a personal search, I don't feel I want to share it unless I could think of a way to use it to shape the story I'm telling, and then I'm stuck to the details and not ones that would work the shape I want. Yet, I think those greater personal themes, what we seek to understand or validate, still make their way into fiction. And that's what I think makes fiction feel authentic. You've discussed authors' treatment of grief, and I think something real has to color what is shaped as grief on the page.

Some good thoughts you bring up, Anne!

Annecdotist
1/5/2017 01:32:53 pm

I wasn’t sure whether any reference to seeking validation you were referring to in fiction or in real life, but I suppose it applies to both. It’s funny, though, because the reason for feeling a particular way is because we’ve been treated that way in the past – fairly straightforward, but that doesn’t make it easy to find. It took me a long time to unravel when my own abandonment issues come from and they certainly fed into fiction – is one of the themes of Underneath!

Robbie Cheadle link
27/4/2017 06:51:31 am

Hi Ann, I saw this piece on Charli Mill's website and I had to pop in and tell you how lovely I thought it was.

Reply
Annecdotist
27/4/2017 09:11:03 am

Thank you, Robbie, that’s very kind.

Reply
Sarah
29/4/2017 06:24:33 pm

Great post. You worked in a bit of everything. Fantastic flash and memoir. And that review...wonderful. I love this line: "they all listened to completely different stories made from the same words"

Reply
Annecdotist
1/5/2017 01:28:26 pm

Multitasking! I wasn’t sure I’d manage it!

Reply
Irene Waters link
2/5/2017 08:25:02 am

What a rich thought provoking post Ann. Identity - a huge subject with so many theories. My favourite is that memoir gives us our identity. We can be different for each person we communicate with dependent on what we relate as our memoir. As a result our identity will change over time and with the different upbringings, world experience and belief system we adopt. Naturally both genetic code, culture, nurture and nature play a part. Your memoir tells so much both about the weather and where you were placed in your family. I don't know a lot about memoir as therapy but have found unexpectedly that when I have written memory that I had refused to talk about and acknowledge I have felt an amazing freeing to go on to explore other aspects. I hope this had a similar effect for you. It is interesting that you recognise the memoir in your fiction. Your review touched on another aspect of memoir - the listening to different stories made from the same words. It is amazing how one event can have so many different meanings for different people and that each person's reality is their truth. It sounds like an interesting book to read. I relate to your flash and agree with Norah - most I think at some point feel that they don't fit in.
Thank you so much for taking part again Ann. You bring a rich mix to the table with your linking of memoir and fiction. I too thought the line deeper than a child's shoe was great.

Reply
Annecdotist
2/5/2017 03:14:05 pm

Thanks for that thoughtful and thought-provoking response, Irene. I do agree that we have different selves and interesting that you experience memoir as stabilising your identity. I don’t think that’s the case for me at all. Mine is much more private!
I was also interested in the sense of sharing the memory/memoir as liberating as that wasn’t the case for me with this one, in fact quite the opposite – it felt like unpicking a wound that had already scarred over. But I’m probably in an unusual position relative to most people in that I’ve had a lot of therapy – which means I have talked about/analysed my past in lots of detail but in a very specific context. So now, although I’m very conscious of the scars I’m less motivated to explore the past as there’s very little for me to be gained in doing so. I think it’s much more productive for me to feed into my fiction, so I’m not sure about future prompts …
Interested in your point about memoir exploring the different perspectives on a memory – this is something that is quite easy to do in fiction and I really enjoy it as both a reader and writer. I imagine it’s trickier to bring different voices into a memoir.

Reply
Irene waters link
20/6/2018 11:06:40 pm

I believe that we need our stories for our identity. Before we have our own stories we use those of our parents in simplest form - my daddy is a fireman. As we gain our own stories our own identity grows. I don’t know that I see it as stabilising as much as giving us being. Once we lose our stories such as in dementia we lose our identity along with those stories. I am just watching it happening with mother who is not demented but age is taking its toll and her identity is fading before my eyes.
Memoir is not for everyone but thank you for sticking your toe in before deciding it is not for you. The last thing I want to do is turn a knife in an old wound.

Annecdotist
21/6/2018 10:09:55 am

Thanks, Irene. I totally agree about our need for stories about ourselves and it can take some time to develop our own if they’re different to those given to us by our parents. Writing this down can be helpful, as can sharing, but not for everyone.
But so sad for many, like your mother, with dementia, finding those stories unravelling which is why it’s helpful to have people around who can remind them of who they are/used to be.
I hope you don’t think I’m accusing you of sticking the knife in. In our discussions, you’ve always endorsed the need for personal boundaries and taking care about what’s shared. But I think we might have different assumptions about the type of material that person is bringing.
The reason I keep banging the drum about the personal risks of over sharing is that some people are more vulnerable than they realise themselves. Also, if they have a history of not being heard there’s a great temptation to splurge, but it’s wounding if it’s not met by the response they require. It’s not that their listeners/readers are unsympathetic, but what the person needs is beyond the bounds of an ordinary relationship, which is why I advocate therapy over some types of memoir.
And I see some creative writing tutors – and certainly not restricted to memoir – with no idea what they might be opening up when they invite students to write something based on personal experience.

Norah Colvin link
4/5/2017 12:24:15 pm

What a rich literary discussion, Anne. I feel the conversation has highlighted many aspects of the writing process that would do well in a post in the Raw Literature section of the Carrot Ranch: "A conversation". If Charli ever runs out of posts, there's a richness to mine here in post and comments.

Reply
Annecdotist
4/5/2017 05:35:02 pm

Thanks, Norah, although I think my debate with the memoirists could tie us all in knots.

Reply



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