Q. You told Chuck that “Truth would be easier to tell as fiction.” Generalize on that comment. Why does a fictional rendition of an event often have more impact than its actual portrayal?
A. When I first thought about writing the scene of my mother belittling my writing, it was too painful to put on the page. But once I remembered the mini-fairytale I’d told Chuck about that incident, the words flowed. In that case, truth really was easier to tell as fiction. Fictionalizing a true event can give the writer the distance needed to dive well beneath the surface. And stay down longer without drowning. For example, I’m using the real story of my mother founding a cult as inspiration for my novel-in-progress. This frees me to safely plumb my deeper emotional truths.
Q. You wrote your first story at age six, then devoted your career to nonfiction. Was that the result of your mother’s dismissive reaction to your first story?
A. I am sure it didn’t help! My mother admired business women; I built a business by writing training manuals. At her funeral when one of her followers told me, “Your mother was so proud of the successful businesswoman you became,” my stomach clenched. I realized I’d spent my life trying to become the daughter she wanted versus becoming a woman who can define herself. I felt released to find my way back to storytelling. It also helped that I had Chuck as my personal, bossy cheerleader. He was unwavering in seeing my future as a “real” writer and was sure to let me know in his very Chuck-like way. Even as he was dying.
Q. You and Chuck were drawn together because of mutual suffering. Why does personal suffering sometimes bring about great art?
A. Chuck and I were two of the most joyful people you’d ever meet. We exchanged gratitudes every day for four years. We never stopped seeing the good, even through some terrible events in our lives. I believe that great art is balanced, just like a masterful painting holds both dark and light. Chagall comes to mind. Even when Jews were being persecuted throughout Europe, he painted whimsical figures in bright colors flying over rooftops. I bet Chuck loved Chagall, too. He was always one for lots of color, especially red.
Q. What do you hope that readers take away from your essay about Chuck?
A. Be open to friendship, even in the most unlikely places, such as chatting on a meditation app. Friendship has the power to rescue us from the past and to help us evolve into a more beautiful future. I wish for everyone to make more space for true friendship in their busy lives. Being with Chuck was like drinking from a fire hose hooked up to the Fountain of Life.
Q. Did you find it therapeutic or painful to write about Chuck?
A. Both. There were times in the writing and revising process I just had to walk away. Even now it’s hard for me to read the piece since I miss Chuck so much. And yet, that didn’t mean writing about my friend wasn’t also healing. I might not have been loved in the way I wanted by my mother, but Chuck convinced me it didn’t mean I was unlovable.
Q. I was entranced by the way you ended your essay. What were you trying to achieve with this approach?
A. Ridiculously pleased you appreciate the ending. By having the essay loop around back to its beginning was my way of giving Chuck ever-lasting life. At the end of the piece, I reveal that the story was literally inspired by Chuck. Having it loop around was a way to show that, thanks to my friendship with Chuck, I was finally writing beyond training manuals.
I hope the ending gives readers a jolt of pleasurable recognition when they see the last line is also the first line. I dedicate that jolt to Chuck. I can hear him cackling.
Q. Tell us a little about your novel-in-progress, Cult Momma.
A. HuffPost published my essay about one of my mother’s followers putting a curse on me at her funeral. Four hundred thousand hits later, I was emboldened to start a memoir. Pretty early in the process, though, the writing became unbearably painful. When I ventured beyond the actual events into magical truth, the essence of my story began to glow and Cult Momma, the novel, was born. While I am working on my book, I sense my mother in the room, as I felt Chuck’s presence when writing “Hollywood Chuck.” The daughter in my novel finds out who her mother really was by becoming her. It leads to a new understanding of herself, her mother, and the depth of her loss. I’ll say no more, even though I’m dying to!
Q. What authors inspire your interest in fiction?
A. Magic Realism is my favorite genre, but with a solid grounding in reality. Two books come to mind: Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll and When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb. My Masters thesis was a deep dive into Alice. I spent a whole year down the rabbit hole with her. Growing up in a home where I wasn’t seen for who I really was, I can still remember how Carroll’s story made me feel less alone. I wasn’t the only little girl who dreamed of magical possibilities.
As an adult, I had a similar experience reading When the Angels Left the Old Country. An angel and a demon become best friends while traveling to America. Sometimes what’s happening in our world is stranger than fiction, and it’s hard to tell the difference. I loved that Lamb’s story was grounded in historical detai,l therefore masterfully combining fact with fiction, until we are so immersed we don’t care what’s real or not.
I’ve always thought what we can’t see is more real than what we can see.
Or at least more interesting.
