Unless you’ve been avoiding the Internet – or you’re not interested in writing essays – you have probably seen the torrent of controversy sparked by Christine Tate’s latest essay in The Washington Post. In the piece, Tate says she won’t stop writing about her daughter, despite the fourth graders pleas. And readers of her piece have been putting her through the wringer:
“What a narcissist!”
“Not only are you exploiting her life for your work, you’re also putting a child in a dangerous, highly visible position on the Internet.”
“No consent? Dear god. You are a horrible excuse for a mother.”
I’m not one for mom-shaming, so I’m not going to weigh in on Tate’s piece. I will say that when to write about loved ones – and when to stay mum – is a topic that comes up in every single class I teach. I will also say that the Tate backlash prompted me to delve more deeply into my own personal rules for publishing – and I think every essayist should develop their own rubric.
Mine looks something like this:
- I let my husband read anything I write about him or our children. And he always gets veto power, though he has never used it – and probably never will.
- When my kids are old enough, they too, will hold veto power. Now that my oldest boys are 7, I’ve begun reading them essays that mention them by name, and I ask if they have any objection to me publishing.
- I let my closest friends and family members review sensitive material prior to publication, particularly if the material may be painful for them.
- If I’m writing about someone who hurt me, I try to do it with great love – and I always change their names. I paint the scene, show their actions and let the reader arrive at his/her own conclusions.
- I try to keep the focus on me – my feelings, thoughts and reactions – rather than speculate about someone else’s innards.
- If I’m writing about someone who has passed, I try to give their immediate family members an opportunity to review the piece before it goes to print.
Despite these “rules of engagement,” I still sometimes struggle with how someone I care about will react to something I write. Just the other night, thoughts of my mom reading my latest essay about my dad’s dying year robbed me of restful slumber.
According to my rule book, mom has veto power. When I spoke to her about the story, she gave me permission to publish it, but said she doesn’t want to read it. The pain and heartache plays on a loop through her mind. She doesn’t need to read about it, too. And who can blame her? I think writers are wired differently. Writing through the pain is the only way we can attain peace.
Perhaps that’s why so many of us DO write about our children. We want to identify where we’ve failed, address it and figure out how we can do better the next time around. That’s where my focus is. I’m not sure about Tate’s.
Decide What’s Shameful
So, yes, I have written about my children – one child’s thumb-sucking habit and another one’s hospital escapades. In both cases, I hope our experience educated and touched other families who are in similar circumstances.
My children are still young, but they know I’m a writer. They know I sometimes write about our family experiences. They can even recite sentences from some of my pieces: “Jack nearly jumped out of his bed from frustration, yelling, ‘wa-wa!'”
Now that my twins are 7, I have begun reading snippets of my essays to them before publication. And at least for now, it’s all fun and games. They giggle and laugh when they hear their names in my stories. They don’t mind that I’ve written about their abhorrent behavior in Trader Joe’s – or that I describe how my youngest son nearly careened into a tree on a morning bike ride.
My boys also have very common names. Most people in our collective world know me by my married name. And since I write under my maiden name, my sons have a different last name than my byline. Add it all together and it’s unlikely anyone from their social circles would recognize my boys in my writing.
The Real Shame
I’ve seen so many writers brilliantly execute stories about their children – both with pen names and without. It would be a shame if we couldn’t read these stories because parents have decided they won’t write about their children.
I have learned so much from reading about how other moms/dads have handled certain scenarios that come from raising little humans. A few favorites: Anne Lamott’s Mother Rage; Kris Wilcox’s Always Be Batman; and Rebecca Gummere’s Cooper’s Heart. If no one is willing to share stories like these, no one in the trenches can benefit.
The key to walking this tightrope successfully, I think, is to ask permission. Make sure the people in your story are comfortable being on the page. If not, don’t publish, or at the very least, use pseudonyms.
Until next time … happy writing!
a