We have two wonderful novelists participating in our giveaway today. Please help me welcome Nichole Bernier & Randy Susan Meyers!
Introducing Nichole Bernier
Nichole Bernier is author of the novel The Unfinished Works of Elizabeth D., a finalist for the New England Independent Booksellers fiction award. A Contributing Editor for Conde Nast Traveler magazine for 14 years, she has also written for publications including Psychology Today, Elle, Health, Self, Salon, and The Huffington Post. She received her master’s in journalism from Columbia University, and is a founder of the literary blog Beyond the Margins. Nichole lives outside of Boston with her husband and five children, and can be found online at nicholebernier.com.
Learn about The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D., Crown/Random House, hardcover June 2012 & paperback March 2013
Before there were blogs, there were journals. And in them we’d write as we really were, not as we wanted to appear. But there comes a day when journals outlive us. And with them, our secrets.
Summer vacation on Great Rock Island was supposed to be a restorative time for Kate, who’d lost her close friend Elizabeth in a sudden accident. But when she inherits a trunk of Elizabeth’s journals, they reveal a woman far different than the cheerful wife and mother Kate thought she knew.
The complicated portrait of Elizabeth—her troubled upbringing, and her route to marriage and motherhood—makes Kate question not just their friendship, but her own deepest beliefs about loyalty and honesty at a period of uncertainty in her own marriage. When an unfamiliar man’s name appears in the pages, Kate realizes the extent of what she didn’t know about her friend, including where she was really going on the day she died.
The more Kate reads, the more she learns the complicated truth of who Elizabeth really was, and rethinks her own choices as a wife, mother, and professional, and the legacy she herself would want to leave behind.
I asked Nichole three questions about our giveaway’s theme topic, self-expression:
1. Is self-expression an important part of your life today, why or why not?
Absolutely. But probably with less urgency than when I was younger. Back then, there was a sort of desperation to make my mark as a writer, and to protect the time and space that was starting to feel so scarce as we were starting a family. There’s certainly no extra time now that we have a large family, but at least I have faith in my ability to make time and prioritize the activities and creativity that mean the most to me. It happens on its own; there’s no need to yell to be heard, or to rush. And the older I get, the more I put a premium on listening and being inspired by others’ work too. And on helping my children learn to express themselves, verbally and creatively.
2. What does self-expression mean to you and how do you do it in the world?
Self expression is possible in so many things. It’s my fiction and nonfiction, thank you notes and birthday cards, even a thoughtful observation on Twitter or Facebook. A well-made apple pie. A meaningfully organized bookshelf. (Though mine are a bit more like they were done by code, waiting to be figured out.) Most of all, it’s making sure that when I open my mouth I’m saying what I really mean, not just the easy or expected thing. This was a big driver behind my novel of the young mother, discovered posthumously through her journals to be so much more than she presented to the world, even those who thought they knew her best.
3. How does your self-expression impact the world—your family, your friends, your readers, and everyone else?
I hope the things I write bring a unique way of looking at things that is meaningful and true and authentic. I have little patience with posturing or superficiality. I learned something interesting recently from Andre Dubus about the origins of the word “sincere.” In the olden days of Rome (I have no idea how old we’re talking), when stone walls were repaired, real mortar was costly and time consuming. Some masons cut corners by using melted wax sprinkled with rock dust. But when it got hot, obviously, it wouldn’t hold. “Sin-cere” was a craftsman who didn’t take cheap shortcuts and hide flaws using wax. Or so says Andre Dubus.
Introducing Randy Susan Meyers
Randy Susan Meyers was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY and now lives with her husband in Boston, where she teaches writing seminars at the Grub Street Writers’ Center.
The drama of Randy Susan Meyers’ novels is informed by her work with violent offenders and families impacted by emotional and family violence. Meyers’ debut novel, The Murderer’s Daughters was named a “Must Read Book” and one of the “2011 Ten Best Works of Fiction” by the Massachusetts Center for the Book.
Randy is a founding member of Beyond The Margins, a multi-writer site dedicated to the craft of writing and the business of publishing. She is also a regular contributor to The Huffington Post and has recently co-authored the guide What To Do Before Your Book Launch with writer MJ Rose.
Learn about The Comfort of Lies from Atria Books/Simon & Schuster February 2013
Five years ago, Tia fell into obsessive love with a man she could never have. Married, and the father of two boys, Nathan was unavailable in every way. When she became pregnant, he disappeared, and she gave up her baby for adoption.Five years ago, Caroline, a dedicated pathologist, reluctantly adopted a baby to please her husband. She prayed her misgivings would disappear; instead, she’s questioning whether she’s cut out for the role of wife and mother.
Five years ago, Juliette considered her life ideal: she had a solid marriage, two beautiful young sons, and a thriving business. Then she discovered Nathan’s affair. He promised he’d never stray again, and she trusted him.
But when Juliette intercepts a letter to her husband from Tia that contains pictures of a child with a deep resemblance to her husband, her world crumbles once more. How could Nathan deny his daughter? And if he’s kept this a secret from her, what else is he hiding? Desperate for the truth, Juliette goes in search of the little girl. And before long, the three women and Nathan are on a collision course with consequences that none of them could have predicted.
Riveting and arresting, The Comfort of Lies explores the collateral damage of infidelity and the dark, private struggles many of us experience but rarely reveal.
I asked Randy three questions about our giveaway’s theme topic, self-expression:
1. Is self-expression an important part of your life today, why or why not?
I am not artistic via paint or clay, nor can I manage crafts with any panache. I do enjoy gardening—a form of self-expression that frees me to be in the moment, but it is truly the self-expression of writing—of telling my truth through words—that suffuses my life.
Write a book that breaks your own heart. That’s one of the reminders I wrote myself before outlining my novel. Writing towards the worst makes me braver—a trait I dearly need to employ more often. In my family, my sister and I are known for doing our ‘death watches’—always waiting for people to disappear and disaster to strike. Reading and writing about the dark side seems to be one of the ways in which I can lighten up.
Lord knows it’s better than whiskey.
2. What does self-expression mean to you and how do you do it in the world?
As a writer, I’ve learned that reaching deep isn’t always comfortable. (My daughters will read this! My husband will think I’m portraying him!) But I push myself to write with a figurative knife held to my own throat, so that my work will hold as much emotional truth as possible.
For me, writing transmogrifies fact into fiction, and thus, soothes my soul.
I used to play a song for my daughters, from Free to Be You and Me, that swore “crying got the sad out of you.” That’s kind of what writing brings me—it gets the sad, the mad, and the glad out of me.
Writing calms me. Writing excites me. Writing sorts out my world.
3. How does your self-expression impact the world—your family, your friends, your readers, and everyone else?
While writing my first novel, The Murderer’s Daughters, I accessed dark emotional truths. I took real events (my father trying to kill my mother) and then punted the reality into a far more dramatic story. Fiction. However, emotional truth, the stuff of trauma can reveal, may offer a gift to the reader — but it’s often ripped from the writer in a way they don’t immediately recognize.
Writing that book meant digging deep into family secrets and crypts. Family facts weren’t really revealed so much as a family culture was uncovered and combed through. After the book was published, after I raised my head from the comforting minutia of plot and structure and query letters and editorial letters, I realized I wasn’t telling fairy tales. I’d ripped away denial that I’d spent years perfecting, denial made up of food and books and television and all the myriad ways we keep ourselves at a distance from ourselves.
Hopefully, mixing up all that fact and fancy turned into nourishing meal for the reader, if cooked and served correctly and honestly, it’s bound to leave the writer with a bit of indigestion. Yet, once it has passed, allowing for that depth of self-expression leaves one far freer.
And Now, Your Turn…
You remember how this works right?
Please read the complete rules at least once!
I ask you a question.
You answer in the comments for your chance to win a book each day.
Please just respond once, even if you make a typo. 
Answer in the comments in 50-200 words (no less and no more to qualify to win one of today’s books).
Describe a moment of heartbreak from your life that you now know was a gift. Write it in the third person if it’s too hard to write it in first person. Be as specific or ambiguous as you want.
Ready, set, comment! I will hold the drawing tomorrow and post the results here in my blog.
Thanks for participating in the Writer Mama Every-Day-In-May Book Giveaway!
And thanks for spreading the word. We will be giving away great books by wonderful women authors all month.
View the complete list of authors and books.
View the giveaway Pinterest board.
Comments on this entry are closed.
My most devastating heartbreak came in the middle of a wonderful long term friendship. That is probably why it was such a difficult time. I had a simple misunderstanding with Sue that led to the complete dissolution of our relationship. At the time I felt I was loosing a part of my soul. As time has dulled the edges of the pain I come to see it as a blessing. A time of new beginnings and a fresh start . I’ve seen things through the eyes of pain and anguish and what I have seen is beauty in the everyday things.
I would have to go back to when I was a child. As we progress in life, sometimes the heartbreaks are much more hurtful, but the benefits are also much more difficult to see. I was an unhappy child and my collie dog, Lass, was my absolute best friend. When I was around ten, a fat kid with no friends, I was walking to school one morning, rounded a corner, and there, on the side of the road, was Lass. Dead. I became hysterical. It was winter and my dog was also frozen. I sat on him sobbing. An older girl, waiting for her high school bus, came and helped me. She talked to me and eventually walked me home. Barbara became my mentor, my savior if you will. She checked on me all the time and always appeared when things were the worst for me….even as an adult.
Describe a moment of heartbreak from your life that you now know was a gift. Write it in the third person if it’s too hard to write it in first person. Be as specific or ambiguous as you want.
My moment of heartbreak happened the day of my first miscarriage. I was sitting in the ultrasound room, already sure that I was miscarrying. My husband was holding my hand, and I was crying, anticipating what we would see on the ultrasound. As soon as the image appeared on the screen, though, we were surprised. The tech showed us a healthy baby with a strong heartbeat, jumping this way and that, and my tears of fear turned to tears of joy and relief. We were going to have one of those stories that we told this child all her life, one with a happy ending. But after my husband returned to work and I went home, I miscarried the baby at home, alone. And five hours after seeing my little one jump on that ultrasound, I was back in the same room, the same chair, looking up at that same ultrasound screen, but this time it was empty.
At first, the whole experience was very traumatic, and I was angry with God. Having seen the baby healthy and moving only to return to see an empty ultrasound screen seemed like a cruel joke. But with time, I’ve come to view that moment as a gift. For those few minutes in that ultrasound room, we were able to celebrate the life of our child.
Knowing what a good, kind, loyal person my mother was, and learning that I was the child from her first marriage, a marriage she kept a secret for ten years, was devastating. Mom was the most honest person in every other facet of her life, but this issue
was one thing she refused to share with me. My father left her for another woman. I was an adult when I learned of this other woman. It would be many years before I learned of their child and more years before we connected.
That woman/child/sister has been a godsend to me. We share the same sense of loss, frustration and lack of understanding that our mothers kept this secret, that our birth father let us both go. All of my siblings are gifts. She is different, we are both “only” children of our parents, with no full siblings. Our lives have been so much the same, the hurts, the disappointments, the unsuccessful searching for information, the desire to at least know our biological father-all of these we have both shared. To have a sister who understands how I feel and why, to share the weight of my loss has been a wonderful gift. Together we are
moving forward.
My moment of heartbreak-turned-gift was the moment my granddaughter was born dead. My daughter had entered the hospital the week before when her water broke prematurely. We had spent seven days hoping and praying for a healthy baby girl. But when my granddaughter was born at 24 weeks, she lay limp and purple in the doctor’s hands, a tiny 1 pound 7 ounces. My daughter asked, “Why isn’t she crying?” I told her everything would be all right. I know what I saw, the evidence was undeniable. The hush in that cold delivery room shouted the truth. But during that week of praying and hoping, God had given me a “vision” of my granddaughter graduating from high school. I clung to that promise as I continued to pray. Then the baby moved. The doctor almost dropped her, and the room came alive. My granddaughter spent three months in the NICU where she underwent a handful of operations, later developed hydrocephalus from a brain bleed. But now, almost 9 years later, she’s a crazy third grader who loves to dance and laugh and draw. My heartbreak-turned-gift was not only the life of my granddaughter, it was the gift of renewed faith.
When I was 19, I was sure I was going to marry this boy that I was dating. He turned out to have a lot of hidden habits that were incongruous with my beliefs and values. When we broke up, I thought I would never feel whole again. But now, eight years later, I’m married to a wonderful man who shares my values and supports and loves me. It turns out the break-up with my first boyfriend helped to solidify in my mind the qualities I was looking for in a spouse. Incredible good from incredible heartache!
At age 21 I was about to graduate from college but had no clue what I was going to do with my life. I was broke, living in a rundown dump of an apartment and to add insult to injury, I realized that my on and off again college boyfriend couldn’t see having a future with me. In an act of desperation I washed down a leftover bottle of antidepressants I had with some wine. Luckily, I had my stomach pumped in time, but because I had no insurance I had be admitted directly into a local mental health facility. Something happened to me there. I looked around at the residents who had been there for years, many who had undergone electroshock therapy, and realized that was not how I wanted to live. I begged a counselor to release me after a few days so I could go back to school, finish my exams and move on with my life. I continued to struggle for awhile, but I did manage to graduate, work two jobs to pay off my bills and eventually met a wonderful man who I have been married to for almost 13 years:)
My moment of heartbreak was when I found out that my son couldn’t hear at the age of three. We had been reassured by doctors that he was fine, he was just a slow talker. When we were finally referred for a hearing rest I couldn’t believe it – I couldn’t even look at my husband. Four years later – the gift is there everyday in the listening and talking to each other that goes on in our house. My son’s hearing loss was also a gift as it prepared me for my own hearing loss which was diagnosed the following year. The community of people that we have met has also be a wonderful gift..
I have come to this haven within four walls, to my horse and her 1,200 pounds of pulsing heart, sinewy muscle, solid bone that braces me up, sobbing. I am 17 and losing, again, the first boy I have ever loved. The first boy who said “I love you,” spoken while standing on thick black mats in the middle of a weight room, spoken even as a house on a distant hill is burning down. Mesmerized, I had watched the flames licking up someone’s memories and smoke tendrils rising, signaling the world that someone burned for me, too. My eyes had moved from the fire to the sweat-soaked worn gray leather of his workout gloves
caressing my palms, then on to the pulsing vein in his solid, tanned, bicep.The heat and scent of him pouring through his damp, sleeveless T-shirt. The speakers taunting as Sting warns “every breath you take, every vow you break, I’ll be
watching you”. I ignore Sting and the clank of iron and steel, the thud of barbells dropped on rubber flooring. I love you, he says. But in mere weeks I, too, would land with a thud when he returned to her.
For me, it was at the start of my junior year in college. My boyfriend of four years was leaving to study overseas, which I was totally prepared to deal with. However, I was not prepared for him breaking up with me on the day I was to move back on campus. I cried in my mom’s arms in our driveway and thought of my nearly five hour drive ahead. I was devastated; my mom even told me I didn’t have to go back. The best thing? I did! And I moved on. And I’m very glad for how my life turned out without him.
Devastation is only the beginning of my experience. When I was 41 years old my husband died suddenly, unexpectedly and without saying goodbye. I was hit with a tidal wave of emotions; confusion, anger, fear, sadness, grief, depression, anxiety and relief. I had never experienced so many emotions at once or so much pain and hurt. I didn’t want to go on without him nor did I see any reason to. I thought he was my last chance at love; real love. The kind of love that digs deep into your soul and there’s no need to talk, you already know what the other is thinking or feeling. The kind of love where you feel safe, adored, needed and desired. It was always in his eyes how he felt about me. In the first few months I buried myself into a hole of depression. It was so easy. I didn’t have to do anything but be depressed. But one day I came to a crossroads and decided that I was too young to be unhappy and miserable, and little by little I dug myself out of that hole. Almost a year had passed and a second chance at love was knocking at my door. In fact, it was with a man who I had dated almost 18 years before, and he got away. But now he was back and the spark was very much alive between us. And I had another chance at real love. It’s been almost five years since we first got together and we are now married. And we don’t have to speak to know what the other person is feeling. Real love, again.
The heartbreak of my childhood was my parents’ nasty divorce and my father marrying the woman he left my mother for. As an eight year old I railed at the unfairness of my stepmother’s emotional manipulations, and I was distraught when she announced she was pregnant. It seemed like the deepest betrayal of my family that was-no-more.
I still have a non-existent relationship with my dad and his wife, but I treasure my little brothers, their sons. Their births helped stitch up some of the deepest wounds I had. I focused on them, their sweet innocence, how much they adored me and was able to forget sometimes how hurt I was. Nothing better than chubby toddler arms around your neck and sloppy kisses to forget you’re mad, especially when you’re ten years old.
Now these boys are grown and I treasure my special relationship with them, love them deeply, and can’t imagine not having them in my life.
It was 5 months before our 30th wedding
anniversary and I was anticipating my husband back from six weeks working out
West. I knew when he walked in something
was off. I prepared for jet lag, a bad mood, and/or hunger. I could never have
prepared for what came next.
Not in the house an hour, my husband blurted out “I feel
nothing inside for you.” I don’t have words for what I felt. I asked for
clarification (although he was pretty clear) I became, and stayed, hysterical
with grief for hours.
The house had another floor. I had to get away from him. I
couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop gasping with sobs. My assumptive world was shattered
– my past, present, and future were minefields.
He wanted us to get help. There was no closeness with another
woman. What had to go was our enmeshment. We did not know where one left off
and the other began. It took 5 rocky years and the best therapist on the planet
for us to come out on the other side. We are fully autonomous, together because
we want to be, not because we can’t live without each other. Blessed.
On the uppermost top shelf of my closet sits an unassuming square blue silk box. A once white rose, dusty, yellowed and brittle graces the top.
Inside rests my heartbreak: A tiny hospital-issued blue and pink striped knit cap, the lingering smell of baby powder and a camera containing undeveloped pictures of the baby we never got to bring home.
A year later, a miscarriage followed. I was shattered, angry and resentful. I often find that crisis coughs up gifts in the form of life lessons. In my quest for motherhood, I never thought I’d see gifts that could rise from the enormity of these ashes.
We’ve since been blessed with two sons. Had we not gone through our losses, I wonder if I would have appreciated this chance at motherhood as much as I do. People talk about the miracle of life, but the phrase always sounded trite to me. People have babies every day. Isn’t it the normal cycle of life? Given my experiences, I can’t help but see it differently considering the intricate timing involved in every single developing cell and the many factors influencing the building of a human body.
A heartbreaking moment for me came as Randy Meyers wrote, a “dark emotional truth.” Dark truth tends to jab our souls, and this one took me by so much surprise I was in denial at first. This dark truth had to do with a longtime family friend not being the trustworthy, caring, giving man we had believed him to be and that he was when he was with us everyday. It launched me into a time of questioning my version of childhood realities and processing many hurts, false guilt, and grief over childhood losses, bad memories, and dysfunctional relationships. It brought out anxiety and ceaseless tears, but it also brought journaling and reaching out to others for help in processing my past. Ultimately it led to new friendships and peace with my past and a better understanding of my dearest family members.
Last year was a painful year in so many ways for me.. ways I cannot detail on a public website. But the issues involved heartbreaking events in my child’s life, the death of my father-in-law, health issues for my other child, and deep uncertainty about what was coming next in my life. By year’s end, I realized I had learned to live truly day by day, finding the beauty in every moment I could, pouring my heart into a journal, deepening my relationship with my husband, discovering a new connection to spirituality and finally finding a deeper understanding of parenting and my children. A beautiful gift, painfully wrapped (paraphrased from The Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells)
Gosh, the first thing that comes to mind is the heartbreak I experienced when I lost my baby. I am sometimes frightened when I think back to what a dark time it was for me. At this point I consider her an angel, ushering forth my three younger
children, three of the greatest gifts in my life. I don’t dwell there too
often, as I can become emotional and wonder about her: What would she have looked like? Would she laugh like me? Would she be petite like me, or tall like her father? And on, and on, and on… I thank her for being the reminder that being a parent is sacred.
My heartbreak moment took place while I was at work the Monday after Super Bowl Sunday. While looking at my phone during lunch, I discovered that my Grandfather had passed away. I unexpectedly read it on Facebook. It was a cold day in Michigan. I sat at my desk ‘pretending’ I hadn’t just read a message bearing that news. I looked at the pile of work on my desk and decided I couldn’t break down. I put my phone down. When I stood up, I felt weak. After walking to the office and resting my head on the wall, I was asked if I was okay. Tears fell as I shook my head and said, “No.” I was ushered to a seat and had a meltdown. A sobbing, tearful, snotty-nosed cry. I was given water, a pat on the back, a listening ear, and tissue. I was offered a ride home. I Iearned that my new Principal cared. There was compassion in her voice and gestures. I couldn’t rewind the news, but I had someone by my side where I was. It is a gift knowing that sometimes work can be a healing and supportive space.
Usually I am an early responder but I really struggled to answer this question- to see any gift in my heartbreak. Maybe it is just the word. I had worked at a Children’s Hospital before I gave birth to my baby girl so I knew how awful some experiences can be. For me “as long as the baby is healthy” was a deep and heartfelt belief. Thankfully my baby was born healthy and I was extremely grateful. So when she almost died from a rare form of leukemia I did not feel any deeper appreciation of the fragility of her life, as I’d had that already. That experience taught me that I have more strength and resiliency than I ever imagined.
Visiting hours are over. The hall is quiet, the room dark, except for the flickering blue light from the TV across the hall. Her tears burn her cheeks. Yesterday she was pregnant. Until she went
to the bathroom and saw red streaks swirling down the toilet bowl. Her stomach lurched. “No! Please God, not again,” she moaned as her muscles contracted so hard she sank to the floor. With her pants still down around her ankles, she rolled over onto her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. “I won’t let you go! You hear me? I won’t let you go,” she sobbed as she rocked back and forth on the floor. She felt like someone was stabbing her in the back. Wave after wave of cramps wracked her body. She contracted like a snail pulling into its shell, but couldn’t stop the little trickles of blood dripping down her legs. She cupped her hands between her thighs and felt the blood seeping between her fingers. When she pulled her hands away, a sack of jelly gushed out onto the floor. Then everything went black. She learned from this hearbreak that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
stronger.