[Caitlin]

Thanks so much to all of you for your sympathy and your empathy. It's amazing how the reactions of others both buoy me and break me up all over again. (Your description, Gary, of your grandmother and the time you shared with her near the end was incredibly moving.) Yet another example of the twining of opposites. Birth and death, release and sorrow, strength and shakiness...All of your words have helped. KatG's "no words" phrase helped. Now if I can just make it through the memorial on Thursday (at which my Celtic musician husband will sing "The Water is Wide." Anyone else know it?).

One of the things my sister mentioned while we were remembering grandpa was how he never, ever patronized us. Every bit of information we gave him, from the time we were tiny, was treated with great consideration by him. In his quiet, undemonstrative way, he was one of my earliest supporters: he asked about my writing, never ever came close to saying, as my other grandmother did, "Oh, you're still young: you'll change your mind." He never gushed over our music-playing or our writing; he didn't need to. He treated us like grownups, and that was enough.

Which brings to mind another potential thread, here: what have other people's experiences been with their families and their writing? Was writing an early vocation or a later-blooming one? I remember that Miriamele mentioned having turned to fantasy as an escape from the strict religiosity of her childhood. Should I start another thread...?

[alison]

Yes, I certainly do know "The Water is Wide". Such a beautiful song. I haven't heard it for years.

I started a reply to this post and stuttered to a halt. It's such a big topic.

I wrote poetry basically as soon as I could. My mother says I wrote a verse on my first day at school. So I never made a conscious decision to write, I just did. I've never been quite sure why that was so. When I was around ten, I got serious about it (I made a couple of books of poems, complete with contents pages - I think my mother still has them). I was in a middle class household with lots of books, so was lucky; I had access to a wide range of reading, a lot of it, when I think back, startlingly inappropriate.

My two sisters and I made things - poems, paintings, whatever - all the time. All children do. Maybe we did a bit more, because the tv was chucked on the rubbish tip at some point, and we were country children. But for me writing was always some kind of inner necessity. My parents were encouraging without being overmuch - on the whole they left me alone to it, which was the best thing to do, and at my earnest request they gave me a typewriter (an orange portable) for my 11th birthday. If they talked about it to anyone else, I would just feel mortified. But I think they were quite good an creating a place where I could find a means of expression, particularly my father, who was the reader. I've inherited his addiction to children's fiction and fantasy. Like me, he still reads it.

However, when I grew up a bit, and still wanted to write rather than do anything sensible with my life, things got a bit more difficult. My father disapproved of my choice for years - it wasn't until I got to spend six months in Cambridge in 2000 that he began to see that perhaps it was real work, and work that other people might value. When I started writing fantasy novels he was thrilled, which actually means quite a lot to me.

And I can't say I have made it easy for them - some of the things I've written bear out that it's perilous to be related to a writer. Well, I have always sought to be truthful in my work, and some of the truths I've worked through in various ways have been painful; and if they're my own, they also involve other people (I do acknowledge this - I ought to say that some of my writing is a kind of bastard fiction stroke memoir stroke essay which has involved, at various distances, using myself as material, which is - let's face it - a cold thing to do). My mother has never forgiven me for my first novel. She still resents and envies me my writing in ways I can't quite trace, that go beyond even that. I think she had a romantic view of art and artists that I have rather challenged in certain ways, and she fears that I feel superior to her in certain ways because I've moved into such another world and so, as it were, strikes first. I don't feel superior at all, but I can't seem to get her to think so. But that's another story, and probably a boring one!

Well, I have gone on. I'd love to hear other people's experiences.

[Miriamele]

When I saw this thread I wasn't sure if I wanted to answer it, because my post might come across as whiny...I don't have a great relationship with my parents and so won't have much good to say about them! But I'll try to answer your questions without making anyone annoyed or myself depressed. :)

Let me say first that your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man, Caitlin. Having an adult not say "you're still young, you'll change your mind," when you share your aspirations, must have been a very positive experience for you as a child. In a similar way I admire my grandmother--a very strong woman who is still living on her own at almost 90--for gently encouraging all her grandchildren to realize their life dreams. She's told me many times that I can do whatever I put my mind to, and has always been supportive of my claims that someday, I will be a published writer! Her confidence in me has been part of the reason I haven't given up on my dream, even though I have yet to finish a book.

Unfortunately I received little encouragement from anyone else. It's funny I should see this thread tonight, because just today I was talking with my sister about how our mother was (and still is, very much) the Biggest Bubble Burster in the Universe. Everytime we ever shared dreams or plans with her when we were kids, she immediately came up with ten reasons why it was a terrible idea. Not only did she pooh-pooh every dream we ever came up with, but didn't even think the stuff kids did was a good idea: music lessons, sports, dancing, all that stuff was a waste of money and made kids spoiled. Video games were evil and a waste of money and made kids spoiled. Etc. To top off all this, my parents were very strict and religious. So many things were on their "that's from the devil" list. So basically my sisters and I weren't allowed to do anything but play Barbies, ride our bikes, and read approved books.

My sisters and I played games together and made our own fun. But even as a very young child I felt jipped; I saw that my friends got to have fun in ways that were closed to me. That's when I started to escape into books. (If I took them out from the library I could get ones my parents wouldn't approve of.) Once I discovered that I could do amazing things, go places, meet new people, learn new things--all just by reading a book!--I was hooked. Then when I discovered Fantasy (starting with The Chronicles of Narnia at age 12)...WOW! I can't explain the joy it gave me, and still gives me, to escape not only into another person's life but into a whole new world. It was pure magic.

My desire to write came soon after. I took so much enjoyment from reading that I wanted some day to give the same back to someone else. I wanted also to create my very own worlds that I could escape into, more completely than I could with another person's.

Writing and Family...well, as I said my grandmother has been supportive of me. My parents dismiss my dreams as inconsequential. I know they don't believe in me. When I was 18 and wanting to take English in university, my parents managed to dissuade me. "What on earth are you going to do with an arts degree, besides flip burgers? If you take English, we won't give you a dime," my mother told me. (Which is ironic, because I took Psychology and they still didn't give me a dime! :rolleyes: )

It wasn't until I moved out at age 19 and got myself a steady boyfriend (later husband) who was the opposite of my parents--a dreamer!!--that I started to think more for myself and have confidence in myself. That's when I really started to seriously think that being a writer didn't have to be a painfully impossible dream stored in the secret drawer of my heart. It could be real. All I had to do is move forward with my dream and stop, well, just dreaming about it.

Alison mentioned that her relationship with her mother changed when she had her first book published. I can't say what my parents' reaction will be when I am published someday. Because I write fantasy, I imagine they will be openly displeased, or more likely, coldly silent about it. (My dad especially is a bible thumper of the worst kind, and has often called fantasy satanic, although he disapproves of all fiction, so pretty much whatever I do will be disliked.) But I can't worry about that or I'll never get anything done.

Right now my husband and I, and our two kids, are living in my parents' basement while we save for a house. It's hard for me to write here because I can feel their disapproving gaze on the back of my head whether it's there or not. I feel like I want to hide my writing from them, not only because I don't want them to look down on me (again) but because I prefer not to upset them. Plus living here is a huge stress for me and I often feel that I don't have any soul left over for writing at the end of the day. Not to mention I have a 5-month old baby. So I hardly ever write lately. I really want to get into it again, but I think in the fall when we move it will be easier. I am not psychologically well living here. (Did I just admit to being crazy? :eek: )

All right, I've gone on long enough...nobody wants to hear any more of this! Suffice it to say my family and writing don't really mix. And that I hope to keep them separate. And that I hope someday to actually get something done, instead of just putsing around...

:)

[Caitlin]

Oh, my.

Miriamele: what you had to say was difficult, certainly, but not remotely "whiny."

I want to respond directly to a couple of things you brought up, but I really, really need to go to bed - so I'll restrict myself to the following, for now:

I'm a birth doula - that is, someone who assists a pregnant woman (and often her partner/family!) during labour. While I was taking my training course, all of the students spoke about why they felt compelled to become doulas. The reasons were split right across the middle: 1. "I had a wonderful birth experience", and 2. "I had a horrific birth experience." Yet these extremes prompted the same result: we all wanted to help women birth their babies.

I've had the unconditional support of several generations of my family, re: my writing and my love of fantasy. You're only now receiving that kind of support, thanks to your husband. But here we both are. I don't want this to seem maudlin or simplistic - but really, it's amazing that such disparate backgrounds could lead us to the same wonderful, resonant, and yes, escapist (in the best sense of the word) place.

And: you referred to your mother as "the Biggest Bubble Burster in the Universe" (a sad role, which you've given a very, very amusing name). My mother-in-law puts people in pink bubbles. Whenever someone's stressed out (a baby's about to be born, or there's a trip or an exam or a medical issue), she envisions this person floating around in a pink bubble. Seriously! We've all been there. So: I'm now attempting my own, very first Pink Bubble Placement. You're in it - along with a home of your own, and space, time, freedom to read and write whatever you want.

Did I imply I'd keep this brief? Ahem...

[Miriamele]

Aw, thanks...that sounds nice! :)

You're really sweet Caitlin (no pun on your name intended). :p

I would say more but I'm so tired...must....sleep...

[alison]

Miriamele - that wasn't whiny one bit. Nor boring either; I found it incredibly interesting. But wow, that's a hard situation. I just want to say that there's such courage in what you're saying and doing.

One thing: if you've come through all that with your desire still burning, that desire is true and strong. I've had some tough times now and again, especially as a young mother (for much of that time I was a sole parent) and although I would never wish to go through them again, they taught me a lot about what I actually want from my life. I don't, in retrospect, regret any of the difficulties.

I know that bubble bursting feeling (my father could be like that, though he is actually a kind man - from him, I think now, it was more a kind of desire to protect me from disappointment). And the brutalities of my own childhood were of a very different kind - warring parents too stressed to really think about their kids, that sort of thing.

The issue with my mother was not her disapproving of my writing, just some of the things I wrote about (which, as I said, is actually understandable). What you're dealing with is somewhat more difficult than that. But you are you, not your father or mother's daughter. You'll do it, when you're less tired and less stretched - it's important to be kind to yourself. But it's so true about needing a room of one's own! Just somewhere, even if it's a kitchen table, where no one is looking over your shoulder. I hope Caitlin's pink bubble does it for you - I have no such charming tradition, just good wishes.

[Caitlin]

But it's so true about needing a room of one's own! Just somewhere, even if it's a kitchen table, where no one is looking over your shoulder.

Several months ago, Penguin asked me to write an "endoresement" for one of six books they were repackaging (as a "Great Ideas" gift set). There was a wide range of authors: Marcus Aurelius, George Orwell, Virginia Woolf among them. I picked Woolf's A Room of One's Own - mostly, I must admit, because it was nice and slender, and I'd read it before, and I wasn't sure I'd make the deadline the Penguin people had given me. My response to this reading can be found on the "Other" page of my website, or at http://www.penguin.ca/static/cs/cn/0/microsites/greatideas/endorse_caitlinsweet.html

Writing this - and reading this thread - made me think long and hard about The Gender Question. There are several, actually - or maybe they're sub-questions, or something. I usually try to resist "genderalizing" (ahem), and I often react in knee-jerk fashion when people make gender-based observations or assumptions about my books, but I do still have questions. Like: Are female writers with children and male writers with children able to give equal time to their writing? Is this writing (or reading, or meditating, or whatever) time simply apportioned based on whether you're the primary caregiver, no matter what your gender? Or is money the deciding factor? After all, if a family can hire nannies and babysitters, maybe the strain of dividing time into writing/parenting segments wouldn't be as great.

These aren't rhetorical questions; I really don't know the answers, and I don't necessarily expect to.

One other thing that struck me about Miriamele's situation: we each seem to divide our writing lives into two parts: When I Was Young and Just Starting, and Now That I'm Older and Have Family of My Own. There may be struggles in each phase, but usually they don't overlap. Except that they do for you, Miriamele. You have your own young family, and you're living with your parents. A compounded set of issues, emotionally and creatively. Alison's so right: be good to yourself!

Alison: I remember my dad writing a profile (for an anthology) of Canadian/British writer Norman Levine. One of Levine's short stories involves a woman and man in bed, having an enormous fight. At one point the woman cries something along the lines of, "And the worst thing is, you'll put all this in a story someday!" Which Norman Levine did - and this both appalled and impressed my father.

Now, when people ask me whether they'll be in my next book, I respond that they probably shouldn't actually want to be.

Time for breakfast. All this rambling, without the aid of caffeine! :-)

[alison]

There's no simple answers to any of those questions. I know that when I became a mother, at 25, I became fiercely feminist (I've since retreated from that, though I still call myself a feminist); before motherhood dropped on me I had blithely managed to ignore what the imposition of roles did to people. It was a big shock to be suddenly labelled and dismissed, particularly when I thought that what I was doing was so much harder and more important than those high-status jobs I'd been doing before. That time was when I first started writing really seriously, although at the time I thought that was the end of me as a writer and that I would never have a book (oddly, that ceased to matter so much as the actual desire to write: I realised I would write even if I knew that nobody would ever read it). When I had a baby, a lot of people said: "That's the end of a promising young poet." I have never forgotten (or forgiven) it; I nearly killed myself proving them wrong. What saved my life around that time was Alice Walker's "In Search of Our Mother's Gardens": it was the first light, if you like, that led to other things.

A bit later on, when I was on my own with two small children, the government brought in subsidised childcare. They've since cut it back, since everyone wants it and it was more expensive than they bargained for (duh!); but back then, it meant that I could have good childcare for two children for $20 a week. That made a huge difference. By then I was in a relationship with the man I'm now married to, also a writer, and he practically forced me to set a room aside in my house for a study. I had never had one before, and even so, it took me six months to move in (I would still write on the floor, or on the kitchen table).

I think it is still much more difficult for women than it is for men to claim that space, to say "I am going to write because I want to". Women are conditioned not to be "selfish". Women still censor themselves, and are much more hesitant, generally speaking, about any sense of entitlement. Over the past couple of decades I've learned to be brash about it. I will claim my space. It's quite ok to write, even if it's totally selfish. I figured that I was a better mother if I felt good about me and my work than I would be if I gave it up, as so many different pressures seemed to imply I should, and felt resentful (and looking at my kids, who are turning into really lovely and interesting human beings, I think I was right). But it's taken quite a bit of unpicking of myself to get there.

All this feels like shorthand: there's so much to say! and it's so complicated!

[KatG]

Miri, speaking of bubbles (great images,) your parents sound like they are in one. They love you, but seem from what you've said to see the world as a place of danger, corruption, vengeance and disappointment, and so their love tends to come out as disapproving fear. You found something more than that view -- you found hope and beauty and feel that they are more present than evil. You have two kids who are going to have to deal with grandparents who love them but are too scared to support them, and just as you broke out of your parents' bubble, you'll probably want to help your kids sail as far and wide as they can. One way to do that is to show them that their parents do pursue their dreams, and even if they don't fulfill them, that there is worth in the attempt. It is one of the reasons I'm trying to write, so that my daughter will know this from her own family. So maybe hold on to that thought as you wait out your last days in your parents' basement, that you are writing for your children as much as for yourself.

I think you echoed the sentiments of many women very nicely Alison. Certainly, the hardest thing for me as an adult woman over the years has been to allow myself to write, and I've paid for it in lost opportunities and inner peace. Guys certainly have obstacles too, especially if they have kids or hard circumstances, but it does seem easier for many guys to make the attempt.

Growing up, I was an introverted bookworm with parents who loved me but had problems and mostly I tried to ensure that adults were happy enough with me that they left me alone. Like a lot of kids who are good at English, I was encouraged by family and school to write fiction, and even did some special things like a poetry workshop, but I did not have a lot of confidence in my abilities and at the time, I was most interested in sf/fantasy, which was a weird thing for a girl to be into back then. I veered instead toward book publishing, reasoning that it would help me learn and I could always move on to writing if I wanted to later. My publishing career did help me learn about writing, a great deal, but it was also difficult and all-consuming, and for me, became depressing. When I had the chance to be a free-lance editor, I liked it better and hoped to finally find time to write, but didn't do very well with it. My husband was supportive of my goals but not in a good position to help me for many years.

Then I had a baby and found out that I'd had oodles of free time and hadn't realized it and now had lost it. :) My child and I both developed medical problems that made things difficult, even as our family circumstances improved. I decided to shut down my editing business and take the plunge. Then we moved and my husband was working twelve-hour days. Then we moved again. And I'm still tearing my hair out and trying to work out a way to juggle everything in a workable system. But I am starting now to make some small progress on the writing front, about ten, twelve years later than I'd hoped. And I can tell you that it does get a bit easier when the kids get older. (Of course, I haven't had to deal with adolescence yet.) And I get to come over here and putter in little incriments of time, which I've found very supportive. (Perhaps we should have called this the therapy thread. :) )

[Miriamele]

Thanks for the kind thoughts, all of you. Knowing that you lovely ladies are cheering for me helps, it really does. :)

As usual you're very perceptive, Kat:
Miri, speaking of bubbles (great images,) your parents sound like they are in one. They love you, but seem from what you've said to see the world as a place of danger, corruption, vengeance and disappointment, and so their love tends to come out as disapproving fear.
I never doubted that my parents loved me. They just didn't understand me or what I wanted out of life, and still don't. They don't understand so many things about how the world works (and how parenting works), but they have good intentions. It took me a while to free myself from the tangled net they kept me in, but I'm not permantly damaged from it.

you found hope and beauty and feel that they are more present than evil.
Nicely put! That IS how I feel.

You have two kids who are going to have to deal with grandparents who love them but are too scared to support them, and just as you broke out of your parents' bubble, you'll probably want to help your kids sail as far and wide as they can. One way to do that is to show them that their parents do pursue their dreams, and even if they don't fulfill them, that there is worth in the attempt. It is one of the reasons I'm trying to write, so that my daughter will know this from her own family. So maybe hold on to that thought as you wait out your last days in your parents' basement, that you are writing for your children as much as for yourself.
Oh yes, I have made it a point right from the beginning to encourage my children's dreams as much as possible. When my daughter comes to me with these crazy ideas of what she wants to do when she grows up, I cheer her decision. Maybe sometimes too much, but I am desperate not to repeat so many mistakes of my parents. I want my kids to know that what they want matters. And that ANYTHING is possible if they want it badly enough. And I agree with you that I should show them this by example. It shouldn't be hard, because now that I am free mentally from my parents' constraints, I feel that I can do anything. Even if I don't ultimately succeed I think I've developed the right attitude.

I loved it Kat, when you said "as you wait out your last days in your parents' basement." Yeah! LAST DAYS!! May it be so... :) :) :)

This thread has been good for me to read and to contribute to. Perhaps we SHOULD call this the therapy thread. Who can't use a little therapy now and then? And who doesn't have issues with their family? lol :D