TBR [to be read] is a semi-regular, invitation-only interview series with authors of newly released/forthcoming, interesting books who will tell us about their new work as well as offer tips on writing, stories about the publishing biz, and from time to time, a recipe.
Give us your elevator pitch: what’s your book about in 2-3 sentences?
The Wet Wound uses a medical lens to examine the grief
that took over me after my father died of cancer when I was seventeen. These
linked essays examine grief from different angles, resulting in a multi-layered
exploration on why, contrary to popular belief, keeping wounds open
is the best way to care for them physically and emotionally.
Which essay did you most enjoy writing? Why? And which
essay gave you the most trouble, and why?
I don’t know that I had an essay I enjoyed writing more than
the others. Each essay felt like a discovery, and it was exciting and fun
trying to figure out what the material wanted to say.
The opening essay, “Hyperbaric, or How to Keep a Wound
Alive,” gave me the most trouble. It went through many different drafts until I
figured out the structure and backbone of the piece. It’s one of the earliest
pieces I wrote for the book, so part of the difficulty was figuring out what to
include in it and what belonged in other essays. It also introduces the central
wound metaphor, which runs through the collection, so I wanted to get it just
right, which takes time. I had to write other pieces and then come back to it
to know how I wanted it to open the full collection.
What boundaries did you break in the writing of this
memoir? Where does that sort of courage come from?
A lot of grief memoirs follow a Western narrative arc:
someone dies, the narrator is sad, and then they move on with their lives. I
wanted to push back against that. That narrative was harmful to my psyche and doesn’t
fit the reality of grief. Grief doesn’t end; we don’t move on and let go. So
this memoir asks: What happens when, instead of following steps prescribed by
those outside loss, we let ourselves dwell in grief?
Tell us a bit about the highs and lows of your book’s
road to publication.
Publishing takes years, which I thought might allow for the
emotions to temper over time, but that wasn’t the case. All my emotion knobs
have been turned to 11. It’s scary and exciting having people read your
innermost thoughts. I get so much joy from sharing my dad with people who
didn’t know him, but it’s of course tied to the fact that he died. I’ve never
experienced so many heightened emotions all at once, and I don’t know that
there’s any way to prepare for it either.
What’s your favorite piece of writing advice?
In my first college workshop, my professor, Pam Durban,
said, “We all have our assigned subject matter.” It’s perhaps not direct
advice, but it gave me permission to write the thing I needed to write and to
continue doing so.
My favorite writing advice is “write until something
surprises you.” What surprised you in the writing of this book?
I think it’s clear how life informs writing in creative
nonfiction (everything is material), but I didn’t realize before writing this
book how writing can inform your life. I’m not talking about this in terms of
my career, although writing has certainly shaped that, but I’m thinking in
terms of my deep personal relationships. Writing this book changed the way I
interacted with grief, and that changed the way I interacted with others. Since
embracing my grief, I’ve felt more love than I knew possible.
How did you find the title of your book?
I am notoriously bad at titles, so I’m grateful Ander Monson
suggested “The Wet Wound” as the collection title, and together with the
subtitle “An Elegy in Essays,” it encapsulates the book’s core in key ways. Let
me break it down piece by piece.
Wound: My dad was a doctor who specialized in wound healing,
and in going through his medical lectures and notes, I reconnected with him.
This archival searching was the genesis of the book. The work’s central
metaphor is an open wet wound, which facilitates healing, physically and
emotionally.
Wet: My father studied marine biology, and his body now
rests in the ocean. In addition to the wetness of wounds, I explore other
literal wet areas in this work, like oceans and rain, but I’m also pulling from
Alexander Chee’s more metaphorical understanding, built from Clark Blaise’s
class and detailed in his introduction to Best American Essays 2022:
“Was the writing wet? Could you feel the rain, the blood, the tears?”
Elegy: I interrogate different forms of writing (postcards,
letters, eulogies, etc.) in grappling with grief because as a writer, that’s
how I make sense of the world. And again, the origin of the book was reading
through my dad’s notes, the letters and lectures he left behind. Elegy also,
obviously, orients readers towards the subject of grief.
In Essays: “In essays” was an important addition in
orienting readers. There are many memoiristic elements to the book, but it is
not a memoir, and you’ll be disappointed if you come in wanting that. Instead,
the book moves through different subjects and lens to explore the concept of
grief. The primary mode is attempting to place the mind on the page, not
narratizing life.
Inquiring foodies and hungry book clubs want to know: Any
food/s associated with your book?
Pair this book with your favorite family comfort recipes.
Some of mine would be: blueberry muffins, lasagna, box brownies, key lime pie.
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READ MORE ABOUT THIS AUTHOR: https://maddienorris.com/
ORDER THIS BOOK FOR YOUR OWN TBR STACK: https://ugapress.org/book/9780820366685/the-wet-wound/
LISTEN TO AN EXCERPT FROM & PLAYLIST FOR THIS BOOK: https://itslitwithphdj.wordpress.com/2022/02/04/ep-148-maddie-norris/