One woman who sat next to me said something that struck me. She mentioned that she loved that my memoir was easy to read and that she didn’t have to refer to a dictionary at all. Though I am college educated and can hold my own in a game of Scrabble, I can’t say with confidence that the vocabulary I use in my writing matches what’s typically found in articles within The New Yorker. I also can’t say that choosing to present my story in a simple, easy-to-read manner was necessarily a conscious choice. However, as someone who doesn’t care for overly graphic descriptions or using fancy schmancy words for the sake of sounding fancy schmancy, perhaps my natural way of writing favors ease over complication….mid-century modern over chotchkie-filled Victorian, tomato soup over vegetarian 15 bean stew, beach vacation over Disney….you get the picture.
As someone who has struggled with PTSD, ease is something I value.
At a PTSD support group gathering that I went to last year, someone mentioned how reading books can be difficult because certain words or descriptions have triggered him. Many in the group agreed. I can totally appreciate that. I tend to avoid reading books and watching shows and movies that have a lot of violence. That was a consideration I had while writing Peace with Trees, and knowing that likely I’d attract a dual audience—those with PTSD and those without PTSD—, I went slightly out of my comfort zone in describing the moments that followed my dad’s accident….emphasis on the word slightly.
I thought of this when that woman at the book club noted my writing style, which made me think of something uncomfortable that happened over an email exchange the week before. I friend connected me to a writing coach who wanted me to talk about my writing and publishing process with her clients. We were to hold this event at a local wellness center. The owner of the wellness center suggested posting the event on their calendar. The writing coach noted that doing so may attract people with PTSD to learn more. Initially I agreed to do an event that combined both audiences, but I had second thoughts knowing that the two audiences have very different needs. We compromised and agreed that my PTSD talk could be a good lesson in speaking to one’s platform for the writing clients. We then went a little back and forth with the event description, with my final description beginning as follows:
“After developing post-traumatic stress disorder from witnessing a tree fall on her father in 1997, Susannah has been living peacefully with her PTSD since 2011.”
My description drew a favorable response from the owner of the wellness center. The writing coach took the liberty of editing it and suggesting we use or don’t use whatever we want. Her’s started off like this:
“When she was twenty, Susannah watched a tree crush her father.”
I don’t need to include the full text from each description, but know that the first sentences from both set the tone for how each one reads.
For those of you who have read Peace with Trees, you know that the tree didn’t actually “crush” my dad. Though I could have simply explained that, especially since I value doing things with ease, what was more important to me was conveying to this writing coach that when it comes to my events I am extremely careful when it comes to the words I choose in all of my messaging, and the last thing I want is for words to trigger anyone. I also noted that even with all of the work that I have done on myself, that sentence even triggered me a bit. I though about that support group where we shared how reading a book can be challenging. I thought about those I’ve connected with online who have shared with me that leaving their home is difficult. I thought about the audience member who walked out of my last event because I touched a nerve in her, which thankfully later I learned was a good thing. I deeply appreciate the increased sensitivity many experienced with PTSD. I can relate to that. It was that important to me to briefly explain to this writing coach why I wasn’t okay with using her version.
I had hoped she would agree with using my version and we could proceed, especially since she initially said we didn’t have to use it, but instead she wrote what seemed like a defensive email that graphically described several of her own personal traumas. She said knew PTSD intimately. I could not get through that portion of the email, not because I didn’t have compassion for what she’d experienced, but because the vivid detail was not something I wanted as part of my psyche. I also found it unnecessary for what we were trying to accomplish—writing copy for a flyer. I didn’t know how to respond because I didn’t know if her response was genuine, passive aggressive, a cry for help, trying to one up my trauma, trying to one up my writing style or something else. What I did know is I didn’t want to hurt her with however I responded. Because she ended her email acknowledging that our writing styles were so different that she preferred to bow out of the event, I chose to say that I was sorry she had made that decision.
I’m not saying that I’m more righteous in how I communicate with my audience. I’m not saying how she writes is wrong and should be corrected. I think what’s most disappointing is her choosing to walk away. However, the bigger lesson here is words have energy. I sold a copy of my book to someone yesterday and I watched her read the back cover. I saw her reaction to reading, “she stood on the front porch of her childhood home and witnessed a tree fall on her father during a fast-moving thunderstorm.” Her gasp conveyed to me that the energy came across.
On the shock spectrum, I’m never interested in inducing a response that’s any bigger than a gasp.
