Interview

I agreed to be interviewed by Trista. Here you go:


1) How long did it take you to write your first book?

My sister and I wrote it together. We actually came up with the idea of a book about two sisters who had gotten married about the same time shortly after we were both married. We talked a little about it, but didn't do much on it. About a year before my sister and her husband divorced, our characters told us that they wanted us to start their story before they got married. So we tried moving it to their college years. But they said, "No, you need to go back further." We finally ended up setting it in their high school years. Once we figured out which story they wanted us to tell, the actual writing went reasonably quickly. I'd say it took us about 2 or 3 years (not actively working on it) to get to where we knew what story to tell and make an outline. Then it only took about 3 months to do the rest of the writing.

2) "Wonder is what sets us apart from other life forms. No other species wonders about the meaning of existence or the complexity of the universe or themselves."--Herbert W. Boyer. What do you find yourself wondering about on a consistent basis? Do you ever wonder if, when animals seemingly stare into nothing, they are really wondering about these things, too, but just can't tell us?

I wonder what my dog would say if she could talk to me. I mean, she does talk to me, but I mean the kind of talking where we would sit down and have a conversation. I wonder what the people in portraits would tell me about things they've seen since their portrait was captured. I wonder about all kinds of things.

3) You mentioned once that Faith is your chosen name. How did you choose it, when and why?

My husband and I got married in 1991. Much to my shock, I didn't immediately get pregnant. Well, I did once, but miscarried early on. Months, and then years went by, without children coming. I had severe pain with my periods for years and years and years, and heard all kinds of stupid crap when I went to the doctors about it. Finally I got Joe to agree to go to an infertility specialist in late '99. I had laparoscopy done in March of '99 to clean out the adhesions the other doctors swore were all in my head. Much to my horror and dismay, the endometriosis had gotten to such a severe stage that they couldn't clean out the adhesions without doing a hysterectomy. So we did IVF with ICSI. I never had any doubt that the IVF would work. I had perfect faith. But it didn't work.

A few months after that, I was sitting in church one Sunday, idly not paying attention to the speaker. I had spent much of the morning looking enviously at the mothers with their hordes of children, and wondering if it would ever happen for me. Then I had this surge of inspiration that I should quit worrying about something that was out of my control. I remember frantically pulling a pen and paper out of my purse and writing down a list of the things that I had always wanted to do, but had put off "because I'm going to get pregnant and won't be able to finish." The list included such things as go back to school, go to Egypt, travel, etc. When I got home from church that morning, I looked at my whole house with a different perspective. I started realizing that for years I had been trying to mold myself into the perfect Mormon woman, and in so doing had crushed what made me the unique person I am.

Over the next several months, I got rid of all kinds of stuff. All the crafty cutesy things I had spent hours laboring over or money I didn't really have to buy went out the door. I sold my scroll saw (that I never even used) and all the paints and brushes and glue and everything. It dawned on me as I was making some Christmas gifts that if I really enjoyed tole painting, I wouldn't put it off until the last minute and then complain the whole time I was doing it. I bought a Picasso print and hung it in my bathroom. I changed my wardrobe. I changed every artificial thing about myself, and tried to strip down to the essence of myself.

My mother came to visit that year just after Christmas. While she was here, she and I had the usual conversation about my name. I have always hated my birth name. Virginia. Yes, objectively I know that it is a beautiful name. But when I got to the teen years, I heard all the bad jokes you can imagine. And I tried every nickname that could possibly logically be extracted fVirginiagina. For a long time I went by Ginny. No one ever spelled it correctly, even if I were standing there spelling it out loud. And there were some people from church that I had once longingly wanted to be like who said my name with what I can only describe as a painfully condescending tone of voice. So I just had all kinds of negative associations with my name. My mother airily told me to just change it.

Wow! I was floored. It had honestly never occurred to me to just change my name. I tried out a name I had liked since girlhood, but it didn't fit me. So while Joe and I were driving home from visiting some friends, I asked him what he would name me if the choice were his. He said, "Faith." And I tried it out, and it fit, and I like it. His family still don't know, and they all call me Ginny. I haven't told them because they already think I'm a freak, and I don't want to give them more ammunition. Half of my family faithfully call me by my chosen name, and the others still call me Ginny. I don't get offended by that; I realize that changing one's name at the age of 37 can be hard for people to get used to. But I like it, and that's what I go by. I haven't changed it legally, and probably won't. I don't have to. I know who I am.

4) Have you ever thought of something you wanted to change in your life, something that could be changed, and then did so?

All the time. All the time. I was painfully shy as I was growing up, and learned when I was in my early 20's that people mistook my shyness for snobbery. So I forced myself to be less shy. I've already mentioned a major change I did in the question above. And right now I am learning to cope with my fear of large crowds. I have missed events that I desperately wanted to see because I am afraid of crowds. I won free tickets to see one of my favorite bands (Barenaked Ladies), and at the last minute chickened out. I sent my husband with his best friend. So now when my husband wants me to go to a concert with him, I go. It's uncomfortable, but I hope that eventually I'll get used to it.

5) If you had a grody wound on your wrist, one that you had given yourself in an act of supreme stupidity, would you show it to everyone and tell them how stupid you are, or would you keep it discretely hidden and/or make up a story that showed your intelligence and valor to explain how you got it?

I'd probably show it to everyone and tell them how stupid I am. I went through a brief episode of cutting myself when I was living in Minneapolis (long ugly painful story). I didn't go out of my way to hide it, but didn't go out of my way to show anyone either. But now I'm a lot more comfortable with myself, and also more judgmental of myself, at the same time. So I'd be comfortable enough to show it around, and pissed enough to tell everyone what an idiot I am.

It's been hard. Part of the depression involves frequent suicidal thoughts. There are times when I feel so completely worthless that I think I should not exist. But I think of what it would do to the people I would leave behind. In the times when I don't love myself enough, thank heavens that I love them enough to refrain from doing it. The antidepressants I'm taking now have really reduced those feelings, and I'm glad. I hate feeling that way and knowing there's nothing I can do about it.