The title “A Way Out of Nowhere” references your mother physically leaving your stepfather but also invokes larger themes like breaking cycles. How did you choose this title, and what does it mean to you?
This was one of those rare instances where the title came to me early. It encompasses the point and arc of the story, which is mentally, emotionally, and physically finding a way out of our own personal ‘nowhere.’
We had no place to go that wouldn’t lead us right back to where we started and no transportation, resources, or phone to communicate with the outside world. I purposely didn’t name the place we escaped from. I wanted readers to feel that nowhere could be anywhere.
Sometimes you have to take the road (or woods) less travelled, unfamiliar and uncomfortable, to find a solid way out. Sometimes it’s the only way.
Rural settings are often peaceful in literature, but isolation also enabled your stepfather’s abuse. Can you speak to the importance of place in this essay?
There’s a duality in rural life – it’s the difference between an enchanting cottage in the forest and a cursed cabin in the woods. I could tell so many stories of the good times I had as a child, playing in that field or the woods. Just a week before this story took place, I was up in a deer stand, reading a book as the snow fell, no one was fighting, and everything felt so peaceful. But a sanctuary can easily turn into a prison. It can be heaven and hell at the same time.
I wrote the story exactly as I remembered it, but as a reader/writer, I can see how ‘place’ in this piece also mirrors the difficulty of escaping abuse. Sometimes you want to go back because you feel lost and have no idea where you’re going and if you’ll even get there. Sometimes the process will hurt or leave you numb. But it’s important to keep going.
“A Way Out of Nowhere” recounts a profoundly frightening childhood memory in a composed way. How did you cultivate the right tone when revisiting this time in writing?
It took adult me kind of becoming a therapist to child me. I’ve always had a very strong memory of certain events in my life, which seems to grow stronger the more I age. I asked myself: Why did these things stick with me in such a vivid way? What was younger me trying to tell adult me? So I sat and went over it all – what I saw, heard, and felt.
I wanted readers to see through the eyes of an 11-year-old girl and experience the isolation, the freezing woods, the panic, and the triumphant relief of finally entering a warm house. I wanted them to understand abuse cycles and impossible circumstances, and how it can be normalized by everyone around you because it’s all they’ve ever known, too. I often hear abuse survivors being asked, “Why didn’t you leave sooner?” My story tries to answer that. It’s not always easy.
Multiple adults were aware of what was happening (including the police), but stayed silent. What obligation do we have when witnessing abuse in our communities?
We have an obligation to speak out, not normalize it, and help whenever possible. Every case of abuse is different. Your gut will usually tell you what’s right and what isn’t. Be the person who helps, not the one who shrugs and looks away. It can save lives.
No matter how bad it gets, there are always good people willing to help. I just read about a woman and her children escaping a similar situation, just a town or two over from where I used to live, by asking the mailman for help. And there are many stories like this.
On that note, it’d also be helpful if there were more safe houses in rural areas. That’s why a lot of rural abuse victims stay or return – help is too far away, or the safehouses that do exist around them are at capacity. The logistics of escape can be very difficult to manage.
As a reader, this essay ended in a way that made me want to know what happened next. Do you envision this as part of a larger work?
Yes! “A Way Out of Nowhere” is 10-15% of the overall story, which spans from the ages of 11 to 14. It gets worse before it gets better, but there are moments of beauty and hope mixed in. I have a clear vision for it. Kind of like a Midwest Gothic coming-of-age.
What made you decide to tell this story now?
The first draft was written in 2011 for a college creative writing class. I was nervous to turn it in, given the heavy content, but I wound up getting an A+ and encouraging feedback from my professor. Still, at that time it was too raw, so the story stayed hidden in a folder while I wrote other things – fiction and poetry, places I could transform feelings into words with a degree of separation.
I wrote the second draft in 2023. I’ve read so many stories of other survivors throughout the years – they made me feel seen, gave me hope, and made me feel less alone. I hoped to make others feel that way. I wanted to transform the pain into purpose. I turned 40 this year and it just felt like the right time, so I took a chance and finally sent it out.
What self-care practices are helpful for you when writing about tough topics?
Writing brings me catharsis. It feels good to get the emotions and memories out of my head and make something useful of them. If it gets too heavy, I’ll switch to something more lighthearted. I’m writing a romantic comedy on the side, for instance. It’s important not to let the dark memories pull you down, but shining a light on them can be healing. I also find self-care in spending time with family, watching a new movie/TV show, reading, doing something creative, listening to music, or going for a walk.
Outside of writing, how do you engage your creativity?
My go-to is music. It can transport you to another time and place. Florence and the Machine is a big one for me – the poetic lyrics, the power and vulnerability in her voice, makes me want to create. I also love to draw and read. I like to look through many different lenses. My most recent read was The Testaments by Margaret Atwood. It was fantastic, by the way.
