Women Who Stay, 35

Chapter 1 ... Chapter 34

______________

The Janie I created was a second-wave feminist idol, committed to creating the life she wanted. She fought tooth and nail to get it. She comforted herself with what she could -- children, objects, the picture of a perfect life. She accepted her husband as a gay man and knew nothing about what he did in the shadows of their basement. What happened to her was a tragedy. Her story was a woman's scream of warning: nothing hurts you like what you love.

In the early days of writing, I fixated on the last conversation Janie and I had. I struggled. You write poorly when you're in doubt, she'd said. Don't you dare do that with my story. So I worked on ironing away my doubt, convincing myself of everything I wrote.

She'd permitted me to write in my doubts, but that, I felt sure was the coward's way out. That was the kind of thing that got the other women fired. I had to prove I was better than them. I had to prove I was worth the story. The fewer doubts I allowed onto the page, the more confident I felt.

___

I sent my agent the manuscript out of the blue. He still thought I was working on the Paralympics book.

This isn't small press, I said. I need you to find this book a big home. And if you can't, I need you to release me from my contract so I can find someone who will.

There was a piece of me, deep inside, that screamed when I sent the email. I had queried about three hundred agents to find him. When I started this project, he was an idol to me -- My Agent, who held power over my life. Who was I to make demands of him? Was this just an ego trip, the beginning of a long, inevitable tumble from a manic writing high?

But it was a very small piece, and the rest of me suspected my bluster was not only forgivable but necessary.

He called me the next morning.

"Hey, um, what the fuck?" he said. "How did you do this? What am I... I mean, is this true?"

"Every word," I said. "Documents and taped interviews."

"Ok, I'm only halfway through, but you're right. This is it."

"Can you get it where it needs to go?"

"I'm gonna make some calls," he promised. "Miranda, you know... like, you know this changes your life, right?"

"That's what I'm hoping."

"Oh, my God," he murmured, his excitement palpable through the phone. "Miranda, you're about to make both of us so rich."

"No, you are," I said. "Hang up. Make it happen."

___

When I read the final proof, I had a small breakdown. I felt like a stranger to myself. This Janie was a stranger, too. Yes, my narrative fit the facts. Yes, I could quote her, word for word, and it all held together.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd gotten it all wrong in the end, and I'd sacrificed a part of myself to make it happen. For a wild moment, I considered telling my editors that I needed more time. I needed to rewrite the manuscript and reinsert my honest doubts. But when I reached for those doubts, they were nowhere to be found. I had abandoned my pursuit of truth for the comforting foundation of a narrative arc.

Like Gordon, I had broken myself down and become a model of what I thought she wanted.

I stopped reading. I told the editor to go ahead. Publish.

______________

Read on to Chapter 36, the finale!