In their memoirs, Jackie Shannon Hollis and Courtenay Hameister bravely tackle not only what it means when life doesn’t exactly go as hoped or planned, but how to navigate challenges with humor and grace. They discuss tips for emerging authors, the role social media engagement plays in reaching readers, how to write about difficult and  potentially revealing topics and how to honor existing relationships while telling their stories with honesty and sincerity.

Jackie Shannon Hollis (JSH): I absolutely loved your memoir, Okay Fine Whatever: The Year I Went From Being Afraid of Everything to Only Being Afraid of Most Things. In addition to the central themes of anxiety and fear, you cover many complex and very human issues: body image, identity and purpose, relationships and sex (oh yes you do!). You do this with a perfect balance of honesty and humor that made this a book I couldn’t put down.

I’d like to know more about your writing process. I’m particularly admiring of how you use humor and how you balance that with the emotional truths. Do you have a conscious approach in how you deploy humor in your writing? Do you give yourself rules or guidelines on where humor is appropriate and where it isn’t? 

Courtenay Hameister (CH): Thanks so much for the kind words about the book. It means so much to hear that people enjoyed it, because, as it turns out, books are hard as hell to write. Who knew? (Oh yeah. . . everyone knew.)

As far as writing humor goes, I think saying I have a “conscious approach” would be overstating things. Integrating humor for me often feels organic, in the same way it feels organic in a conversation. I began my writing career writing largely for live performance, which I think is still apparent in my work on the page. Friends who read the book said it felt like they’d just had a 7-hour conversation with me, which frankly doesn’t sound that pleasant.

I once heard Steve Almond talk about deploying humor in his memoir writing, and he said that he often places humor in spots where he needs relief—a scene is particularly emotional or dark or awkward, and he, as a writer, can’t take the tension anymore. He’ll put a joke there because he knows the reader feels the same way.

That made a lot of sense to me, and I know I sometimes do that. But more often, I think I try to write humor a little like music—there’s a rhythm and a pace to it, and if I read through a piece I can sense the spots that lag or need a little brightness. It has a lot to do with my gut, and recognizing opportunities for jokes. The worst thing in the world is reading an ostensible humor book and catching a line that’s a joke opener just lying there, unused. Well, it’s not the actual worst thing in the world. The actual worst thing in the world is a dental drill.

I don’t give myself guidelines on where humor is appropriate. That line moves constantly, and I’m a horrible arbiter of propriety. I never try to offend, but I know it’s going to happen. If you write humor, you have to be okay with that.

CH:  I’m just starting your upcoming memoir, This Particular Happiness, and I love how easily you go back and forth between your adult self and stories of your childhood as you tell the story of your struggle with the desire to become a mother. I’m amazed at how vivid the details of your life are, even the ones from when you were very young. Speaking of “conscious approaches,” do you have a technique to bring forth those long-past memories, and once you do, how do you choose the ones that best serve the narrative?

JSH: I’m glad to hear that the back and forth moves easily. This came about from many revisions and the excellent input of the agent, Rachel Sussman. She was a wonderful, smart guide.

I think that even if a memory seems insignificant, if it holds in you, something important was happening there. Maybe it’s connected to a deeper memory you don’t yet have access to. You may not recall the emotion, just an image, a sensation, a sound.

As a child, I was a noticing person, taking in everything, especially with my eyes. I still am, and maybe because of this I can step into memory pretty easily. My sister, Leanne, is often shocked at the stuff I can remember.

I like the meditative practice where you sit quietly and see three things, hear three things, and feel three things (sensations or emotions), pause and repeat, noticing something new each time. I use this practice to bring myself to the past. To take hold of a thread of memory and put myself there. My gloved hand in my father’s gloved hand. What was that moment? My mother with her calligraphy pen. The ink bleeding into paper. Why is this memory so vivid? What is important here? The picture window in the house I grew up in. What do I see?  What do I hear? What do I feel?

This quote from bell hooks has stayed with me: “I gather together the dreams, fantasies, experiences that preoccupied me as a girl, that stay with me and appear and reappear in different shapes and forms in all my work. Without telling everything that happened, they document all that remains most vivid.” The second part of this quote touches at your question about choosing which memories serve the story.

I wrote many scenes that didn’t make the final version of This Particular Happiness, which is my story of being raised in a place, a family, and a generation where the expectation was that I would have children, but when I met the man I wanted to spend my life with, he didn’t want kids. There are many pieces to this memoir: coming of age, falling in and out of love, sexuality, sexual assault, friendship, loyalty to family and marriage, death. But they all had to circle back to the central themes of identity and the question of motherhood. Yes, other things happened that were important to me, but not to this story.

An earlier draft of the book was around 95,000 words. The final version is around 75,000. My publisher, Laura Stanfill at Forest Avenue Press, marked up the manuscript when she felt I was circling back to something I’d already established.  When a scene was covering the same territory as a prior scene, she asked me to pick the one that best conveyed what I wanted to say. This was painful because, at least for me, there is the desire to show the sweet moments with others, to honor everyone who is part of my life. While that is a lovely sentiment, it can make a book lag and frustrate a reader. And ultimately the book is for readers.

JSH: Both of our stories explore the body and sex. I think you do this particularly well and, as a reader I was captivated.  I’m going to leave this question broad and you can decide where you want to jump in, but I’d like to hear about your process in writing about sex and the body.  Also, did your publisher have input into what stayed and what was edited?

CH: My editor Jean Garnett at Little, Brown was very involved—she helped to shape the book and decide what stayed and what wasn’t necessary to tell the story. That turned out to be seven chapters, or about 23,000 of my initial 71,000 words. Ouch. (There was one chapter she initially jettisoned that ended up surviving, but I had to give it a lot of love.)

Losing that much writing definitely smarted at the time, but by the time I was at my final draft, I didn’t even remember those chapters, except for little bits and pieces I managed to work into other parts of the story (if something is really good, you can often find a place for it). If an editor truly gets you, which Jean absolutely did, her objective eye is priceless.

As for writing about sex. . . that is a large can of worms.

I could write about the idea of sex all day. Pontificate, consider, opine about sexual mores, the reasons I might’ve been a virgin ‘til I was 34, and why many men consider a woman marriage material if she waits until the third date to have sex, but not if she fucks on the first date. (Seriously, what is up with that?)

But actually writing sex scenes—ones in which I was a participant—was incredibly awkward and difficult for me. I initially approached writing the scenes in the same way I’d approach any other scene—what did I see/hear/touch/feel, what was driving me emotionally at the time, where are the opportunities for humor? But I was constantly stopped by my own embarrassment. I was writing a humorous memoir and suddenly, needing to write about what made me “sparkle in my bathing suit area” (to quote Storm Large) made it feel a little like genre whiplash. The sex scenes I’d read in the past were largely written for the purpose of titillation, not edification (which is great!), but I felt that since I wasn’t an adept sex-scene writer, it would be better if my sex scenes were more emotionally illustrative. For instance, I wrote the inner monologue I often have during sex, which included the information that I hate to be on top because I have to hold my boobs up so they’ll look cute and my partner can see my “I-just-ate-a-burrito” belly unless I do the reverse cowgirl, which I’m awful at. This is not information that I necessarily want the world to know, but it’s all true. And the truth is what makes readers recognize themselves in you which, to me, is the whole point.

CH:  One thing that terrified me (to the point that it made me unable to write for a while) was the current social media environment, and callout culture. You can write one wrong sentence and it can ruin a book or a career. You chose a lightning rod of a subject to focus on for this book: women’s choice to either have or not have children, and why. How did you navigate writing about how that choice played out for you, and did you do it with an awareness toward not trying to make pronouncements or judgments?

JSH:The social media environs can ratchet up my anxiety level too. When I’m on Facebook or Twitter, I often find myself typing and deleting, typing and deleting. It would be nice to have that type and delete option in my face-to-face conversations!

When I began writing This Particular Happiness, I made a decision that it would not be a statement or a stance on parenthood. No statistics. No position on what is the “right” choice. Others have written excellent books that do this work.

My intention was to write a personal story that readers could bring themselves to, regardless of whether they have, or plan to have, children. This book isn’t an argument one way or another. As with your book which has anxiety as a framework for a deep exploration of many things, my book is an examination of identity and self-knowledge, of whether a couple can survive a difference, of creating a primary relationship as territory for personal exploration.

While I didn’t intend to make a political statement, I think any writing that explores a woman’s choice, that explores the maternal, is political. In this central question of whether or not to have a child I am aware that my story may stir up feelings and judgements and opinions in readers. As people do with most things, they will come to this with their own experience, their own story. And many of us want to think our choices are the right choices. But I love memoir because it is a chance, to hear another’s story and reflect on our own lives through that new lens.

I welcome any conversations that arise from this. I’m also trying to prepare for the judgments by anticipating them. I feel protective of others whom I write about. For instance, one worry I have is that my husband will be judged. He’s been so supportive of me telling my story which includes his story. But this is a conversation we’ve had as well.

JSH: Okay Fine Whatever was released in July of 2018. As someone who has gone through the experience of launch and events and tour, what three pieces of advice would you give to someone like me who has a forthcoming memoir, that might help me connect with readers, make the best use of my time, and experience some joy in the process?

CH: Know your limits. I scheduled three events in one five-day period on my tour and it turned out to be too much for me. As my book illustrates, I have generalized anxiety and meeting a lot of strangers over a short period of time can be difficult for me. I didn’t realize this until the tour. I imagined being an author and going on tour and somehow thought because I’d published a book it would magically turn me into a person who does not feel awkward around strangers. It did not. That being said, you will discover ways in which your belief in your book and your desire to get it into new hands makes you braver.

Your book will not be “new” for very long. About two months. So spend as much energy as possible on marketing in the 4-5 months prior to your book’s launch, and then just kill it those first two months the book is out, because your publisher has a lot of other titles and they have to move on after that. They will continue to support you, of course, but your book is their new exciting baby for just about six weeks. Note: this does not mean that you’re not going to have strong sales when you’re in backlist – publishers love their backlist! It’s a great source of revenue for them (and potentially for you). It’s just much harder to do marketing and PR for a backlist title because every news outlet wants to talk about only “new” books.

Relish every minute. I didn’t take my book birthday off from work and I will always regret that. Just allow yourself soak it all in that first day—you’ll hear from friends and colleagues all day, and hopefully see some press come through. You’ll still need to post whatever comes through on social media (because remember, you’re killing it!), but maybe go to a nice dinner, open an expensive bottle of champagne…you accomplished something gigantic and it needs to be appropriately celebrated.

CH: You’re just now finishing the final edit of your manuscript. One of the misconceptions I had when working on my book was that my second draft would be easier than my first—that the difficult work was done. But in actuality, it was much harder as this was where my editor asked me to dig deeper into almost every experience I imparted. I wish I’d been prepared for that. Has there been any part of the experience of writing your book that you wish you’d known about prior to writing it?

JSH: When I first started writing and taking classes, I focused on short stories and personal essays. Maybe because I came to writing later than many (around 40), it seemed like most of these stories had just been waiting to be told. They came out almost fully formed in the first writing. I thought this was what writing was, you write it, tweak it a little, and it is done. If a piece I started didn’t come easily, I set it aside and went on to something else. This was a rich time in terms of producing new writing. And I was lucky to have a number of these stories published. But what I didn’t understand was that I was experiencing just one dimension of the writing process and I was missing something that is the heart of writing. Revision.

When I tapped out the waiting well of stories, the work  came more slowly. Eventually I started working on a novel, and then my memoir. This Particular Happiness went through at least seven drafts, some involving light revision, and some requiring deep structural changes. I didn’t understand early on that this is what writing is. Write, revise, write, revise. Discover. It is painful. It is a revelation.

Each time I was given direction (by my smart writing group, by Dawn Raffel – an excellent editor, by Rachel Sussman, who went through three revisions with me, and by my publisher, Laura Stanfill,  who helped me cut and polish it so it shines), I would think, “I have no idea how to do this.” I procrastinated and felt afraid. And then I started to work. Here was the delight of discovery, the pain of digging deeper, the uncovering, the careful cutting.

Now, it seems, the hard part of writing is the first draft. Now, it is the revision that I look forward to. It is here where I learn the most about the craft of writing and where I discover what exactly it is I am writing about. While I wish I’d known this early on, I wouldn’t have listened. I wouldn’t have understood.

JSH:  You have written a wonderful full-length memoir, but, along with hosting for Live Wire Radio, you also were/are a writer for this sketch comedy format.  What is different and what is the same about your writing process for each of these forms?

 CH: I think both sketch comedy and memoir can be powerful in the ways they illustrate the human condition. One of my favorite sketches of all time is Key and Peele’s “Auction Block,” in which they play two slaves on an auction block who are initially appalled that they’re being sold at all, but soon become offended because other slaves are being chosen over them. It is, as almost all sketches are, a wildly heightened illustration of a human foible, in this case, our tendency to get our egos bruised. Like memoir, sketch comedy often works because it’s relatable—we laugh because we see ourselves in the characters.

I do whatever I can in my writing to be painfully honest—to the point that it’s sometimes uncomfortable—in the hopes that someone who’s been through the same things I have might feel less alone in their experience. So much humor comes from dark places—shame, anger, frustration—and it’s extraordinarily satisfying and sometimes even healing to turn that darkness into humor.

CH: Writing memoir almost always involves painting people in our lives in a not-ideal light, or revealing things that even our closest friends and family aren’t aware of about us and our beliefs. How did you manage the balancing act of revealing what you needed to in order to tell the truest version of your story and keeping your relationships intact? And did you allow anyone portrayed in the story to read the manuscript-in-progress?

JSH: While I was writing This Particular Happiness, I tried not to think about how what I wrote would land on others. Of course sometimes I would step back and worry, “What will people think?” But I left that worry outside the room when I wrote and I held close my love for each of the people I write about.  We are all so flawed, most especially me. None of us are one thing and I think this is the hardest part, what to include and what to leave out, making sure none of the people in my life, including me, are cemented into a “character.”

I am extremely lucky to have supportive family and friends. I have shared my manuscript with almost all of the people in it. This sharing and their reading has been an exciting and surprising process. It led to conversations and learning each other in a new way, me revealing this longing that I had kept under wraps for so long. There is one person who has not read it and they let me know ahead of time that they didn’t want a part of their story told. Honoring this didn’t change the story at all, in fact it led me to examine MY story more deeply.

When I finished each draft, my husband, Bill sat down and read straight through. He supports my writing and our story and he’s open about who he is.  Sometimes I worry about how he will be seen, as a man who so firmly didn’t want children. But then I remind myself that I am the one who changed the plans and how this impacted us as a couple.

In the same way, I worry about how my mom will be seen. Then I remember what a jerky teenager I was, and that I am as complicated as she was. I miss her so much. She was a great supporter of my writing, no matter how personal.  Before she died, she read early sections that would become part of this book. This led us to important discussions. I hope the complexity and richness of our relationship comes through. The ways we reached out to and the ways we pushed against each other.  I think this is how many relationships work and I wanted to show that complexity.

I really believe the idea that we are restricted by our secrets. By being able to stand up and say, “This is who I am,” then perhaps more of who I am, those secret dark areas I don’t even know I am hiding, will be revealed to me.

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Courtenay Hameister is an author, teacher, screenwriter. She was the host and head writer for Live Wire Radio, Portland’s nationlly-syndicated radio variety show for 9 years. You can find her work in McSweeney’s, Portland Monthly, Bustle, and in her monthly column for the Mercury, “Fun With Anxiety.” Her first book Okay Fine Whatever: The Year I Went From Being Afraid of Everything to Only Being Afraid of Most Things was released in July 2018 from Little, Brown. Follow her on Twitter: @wisenheimer

In addition to thinking she would be a mother, Jackie Shannon Hollis once dreamed of being a June Taylor dancer or a race car driver. A lifelong Oregonian, Jackie resides in a home her friends call the tree house. Through her local library, she facilities writing classes for people experiencing houselessness. Jackie and her husband lead workshops on communication, conflict management, and creating successful and satisfying relationships. Jackie’s short stories and essays have appeared in a variety of publications inlcuding: The Sun, Rosebud, Slice Literary, High Desert Journal, and VoiceCatcher. Her memoir, This Particular Happiness: A Childless Love Story, is forthcoming from Forest Avenue Press on October 1, 2019.

Follow Jackie on Facebook and Instagram at Jackie Shannon Hollis and on Twitter: @ JShannonHollis.