When Writing Trauma Causes More Trauma by Poppy Gee

Childhood trauma seems to inform a lot of literary novels. Do you pull from any fears, anxiety or trauma from your early life into your work? Seems like mining our own uncomfortable pasts is perfect for crime fiction.

Childhood trauma seems to inform a lot of novels... yes, it does. And it's one of the biggest ethical dilemmas every writer must reckon with. 

It's understandable that a writer might process their own childhood trauma through their writing. The desire to make sense of the world is the reason most of us first put pen to paper. For me it was a daily diary I began when I was eight years old. It began with a list of the birthday presents I received -  a red scooter, clothing, a beach towel, a diary. Weeks later my entries consistently chronicled my frustration with my sisters over trivial matters, and my unfounded allegation that mum favoured them over me. According to my diary, everyone was mean to me. I was the Cinderella of the family - overlooked, overworked, downtrodden. My family would have a different perspective, of course. My diary only offered one perspective - mine. 

These childhood diaries were never intended for publication, and never will be. But what if writers who do intend publication weave the tales of their childhood trauma into their novels, without giving the other actors a right of reply? 

Now that I'm a published author, and I have in depth conversations with other published authors, I know that it happens more often than is publicly acknowledged. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends, ex-wives and ex-husbands provide marvellous fodder for novelists. But sometimes, to a published author's discomfort and regret, friends and family don't like seeing their thinly disguised stories appearing in a novel. A sibling might have an entirely different point of view of family events, but because they're not a writer, they never get to present their case. Children might find distressing the portrayal of a character who bears an unflattering likeness to their own parent. This situation can be very hurtful and has the power to ruin relationships.  

I have used elements of childhood trauma as scaffold for an early draft. Later, I've erased or replaced all references to it. The emotion remains, but no identifying details. I feel that if you can't do that, if family members recognise situations, or feel identified in your novel, you shouldn't call it a novel. It would be more honest to call it a memoir, or autofiction. 

One author who was sued for repurposing other people's stories is Kathryn Stockett. She was sued by her family's maid Ablene Cooper who claimed the character Abileen was based on herself in The Help. (The lawsuit was unsuccessful due to the stature of limitations.) Authors from Hemingway to Capote reportedly lost friends after writing about them explicitly. Sylvia Plath's mother famously opposed the book The Bell Jar, describing it as a betrayal of the family. 

Other times, a successful book sits in the grim shadow of a questionable past. In Where The Crawdads Sing by Delia Falconer, the protagonist is accused of a horrific murder. The author herself is one of several people who remain wanted for questioning regarding a murder that occured in Zambia in the 1990s when the author worked there as a conservationist with her husband. 

Norwegian writer Karl Ove Knausgaard exposed everything about his life in his work My Struggle. The series was an enormous success, published in 22 languages, and yet he says, 'it fills me with sadness everytime I talk about it.' He used real names, real situations, and people he cared about felt violated.

When I publish a book, I want my friends and family feeling genuinely happy for me. That's important to me. But maybe some people in our lives are awful, immoral, cruel or violent, and maybe they deserve to be unveiled. A writer might decide that they are prepared for the ramifications. 

But if you're not, my suggestion is, take the golden seed of the idea, write it as honestly as you can, then change every last detail over as many drafts as it takes.