Miracle Beach (39 page)

• ERIN CELELLO •

 

 

Q. What inspired you to write
Miracle Beach
? How did the novel evolve?

 

A. This novel started as a writing exercise, as a nonfiction short-short, that I wrote while working toward my MFA. Around that time, both of my grandfathers had passed away, and I thought of the moments before each of my grandmothers had to put the key in the lock of houses that they now lived in alone. What a heartbreaking, surreal stretch of time that must have been for them. When I, and probably most people, think about loss, those aren’t the moments that come to mind. I wanted to delve into them in an attempt to understand, even a little, the experience of loss more fully.

I hadn’t written fiction before—unless you count a story about a horse and a girl that I wrote and illustrated when I was nine and one other truly awful short-story attempt in high school that, fortunately, I don’t think anyone ever saw (and if anyone did I hope they just plead ignorance). Anyway, I found that I couldn’t make the exercise work as nonfiction, and so I fictionalized it. And then I simply kept asking, “What next?” Incredibly, an entire novel evolved.

To this day, when I read the scene where Macy is going home for the first time after Nash’s funeral, in my mind the house I picture her entering is not hers, but my grandmother’s.

 

 

A. Pick one? If my agent and editor would have let me, every character who appeared would have had his or her own chapter. Okay, not really (although Glory and Sophie did each have their own points of view for a brief time), but I do think that the story is richer for having multiple points of view, because no one experiences loss in exactly the same way. In this novel, we see Nash through the eyes of the three people who loved him most, but they each deal with his death very differently, because each had very different relationships with Nash. Only through examining each of those relationships are we able to get a more complete picture of who he was, and who he was to those who loved him.

 

 

A. I suppose I carry little parts of each of them in me. Like Macy, I love nothing more than spending time with my horse, because when I’m at the barn all the worries or stress I might have simply melts away. I’m laid-back like Jack. And I share Sophie’s love of the outdoors and Magda’s loathing of socks and shoes.

Some members of my family are convinced that the characters are modeled after specific people (namely, them), but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In my mind, they are all very much their own people who have their own distinct features, likes, dislikes, and mannerisms. None of the characters are even composites of any real people I know. I got to know these characters slowly with each passing page and with each new draft, much like the development of a real-life friendship or relationship. They each told me who they were.

I’ve heard other authors say something similar, so I’ll admit to this, too, even though it sounds crazy: Over the years, these characters have become so real to me that I often think of them existing outside of my imagination or this book. I picture them going about their lives in Green Bay or Campbell River, and would half expect to run into them on the street in either of those places.

 

 

A. Picking a favorite character is, I imagine, a lot like asking parents to pick a favorite child. I don’t love each of them equally, but I am attached to each character in a different way. That said, I would have to single out Glory. The story takes on a new light, a new energy, when she appears. Without Glory, these characters would be muddling through this terrible loss, together yet alone. Glory is the glue that binds them together and gives them perspective. Plus I, for one, think she’s an absolute hoot.

Because of Glory’s childlike innocence and directness, she was probably also the easiest character to write. Her voice came through loud and clear every time. The two hardest characters were Macy and Magda, because it seemed that even though I understood—and very much liked—them both, on the page their behavior could be off-putting. I had to really work at showing their full range of emotions and personality so that hopefully readers would come to see them as I do—as good, kind women who are struggling through a rough spot in their respective lives. I think all of us would likely not want the world to see our inner thoughts and private actions at the lowest points of our lives, yet this is how we see Magda and Macy. They’re sad, angry, and raw, and dealing with a profound loss in very different, but very human, ways. Yet they both push through to the other side of that loss and emerge with new perspectives, better understandings, and a peace that neither had before. In that way, Magda and Macy were difficult to write, but the most rewarding characters to watch develop.

 

Q. What kind of research did you have to do in writing
Miracle Beach
?

 

A. The old adage “write what you know” definitely applies in this case. Like Macy, I have always been a girl in love with horses and have competed at the state and national levels since I was very young. I ride hunters, not jumpers, and I’m not even close to being as accomplished an equestrienne as Macy, but I’ve been immersed in horses for more years of my life than not, and I had a great deal of fun immersing myself in horses on the page as well.

 

 

A. I was fortunate enough to spend several summers living in Campbell River, which is a real, incredible, and hauntingly beautiful place. In fact, a good chunk of
Miracle Beach
was written there, from a porch that overlooked the Strait of Georgia and the mountains beyond.

While the book is fiction, and while I took certain liberties with locations and events, I’ve tried to capture the spirit of Vancouver Island and convey its uniqueness, though I doubt I’ve even scratched the surface. I always looked forward to traveling there, and was always sad to leave. I haven’t been back in years, but a piece of my heart will always remain there. It is a truly spectacular corner of the world.

 

 

A. Lorrie Moore starts her short story “How to Become a Writer” by saying, “First, try to be something, anything, else.” I want Ms. Moore and her narrator to know that I attempted to heed that advice. I really did. I switched majors several times in college before settling on English, and even then I applied to law school, thinking that was the most rational route for an English major to take. But on a lark I checked out Northern Michigan University’s MFA program and applied, and on an even bigger lark, they let me in.

When I look back, though, I’ve always been writing. I journaled growing up, wrote for the student newspaper in college, freelanced for a newspaper and small magazines throughout college and graduate school and beyond, and afterward was lucky enough to land a job writing speeches for a sitting governor.

Although I feel fortunate that my debut novel is also my first novel, it was preceded by a lot of fantastically bad poetry and took nearly a decade to finish. I’m happy to have both behind me.

 

 

A. I used to think of myself as a fraud, that I wasn’t a “real writer” because I didn’t write every day. I would think obsessively about what I needed to write and then do anything but—cook, run, read, run, and cook some more—until, after days or weeks or sometimes months had passed, I couldn’t help but sit down at my computer and start typing. It was like a dam bursting.

Then at a conference one year, an author who used the same avoidance technique I did said she had gone to a therapist to figure out why she couldn’t nail down a writing process. The therapist told her, “But that
is
your process.” A lightbulb went off for me. I instantly felt better about myself as a writer. I started writing more, and more regularly.

These days I no longer wait for my muse to tap me on the shoulder like I once did. Instead, I’ve learned to sit down and work anyway, whether she shows up or not. And I’ve learned how much I can accomplish by stealing snippets of time—an hour here, a half hour there.

As for rituals, that word sounds so definite. So set in stone. And I’m not prone to any sort of rigidity or big decisions. This is probably why I write on a laptop that I can, and do, take anywhere when the mood strikes. I avoid writing at a desk, and opt instead for big, comfy, overstuffed places full of pillows and warmth. Preferably, especially in the cold months, there’s a fireplace. And usually there will be a cup of coffee or tea nearby if it’s early, or a glass of red wine if the day is marching toward evening, when I tend to do my best thinking and writing. And a dog. There’s almost always at least one dog curled up next to me, fast asleep.

 

 

A. I’ve always been a voracious reader. On vacation when we were young, my sister took to calling me “the Mute,” because she liked to talk almost as much as I liked to read, and as you might imagine, we didn’t make very good travel companions. I used to read almost anything I could get my hands on, though in later years, I’ve gotten more selective. My husband recently pointed out that there is a finite amount of time that one has to read a seemingly infinite number of books, so I’ve started to make tough choices. A book has to really engage me or add something to my knowledge of craft or the world. If it doesn’t do one of those things, I put it down.

With respect to fiction, I tend to gravitate toward quieter books that explore the relationships between people and their choices, books that pose interesting “what if” questions and then go about answering them, books that deepen the understanding of what it means to be alive—to be human. I’m going to refrain from listing any specific books that I’ve loved or ones that have influenced me, because once I start, I’m honestly afraid that I wouldn’t be able to stop.

When I’m writing (which is, if I’m being honest, a great majority of the time), I choose books that I wish I could have written, either for the language or the voice or the plotting, because there’s always something to learn; there’s always something that someone else does better. During the writing process, I also read a lot of contemporary poetry—poets such as Pablo Neruda, Thomas Lux, Billy Collins, and a new, recent discovery: Martín Espada (another Wisconsin connection!)—in order to jumpstart my creative juices. Poetry never fails to dig me out of a writing rut and prod me into varying my language and trying new things. I also read a lot of Raymond Carver, because few, if any, authors are able to elicit such powerful emotion with such economy of words as Carver. And also because I tend in exactly the opposite direction if left to my own devices.

 

Q. After working on
Miracle Beach
for so long, is it hard to let it go? Are you working on anything now? What is up next for you?

 

A. Libba Bray wrote a fantastic blog post a couple years ago called “Writing a Novel, a Love Story,” in which she parallels the arc of a romantic relationship with writing a novel. One of the last phases, “Final Draft,” describes an “it’s not you—it’s me” sort of breakup an author often has with a novel by the end. I was stuck in that phase for a good long time, and after working on this novel on and off for nearly ten years, I thought I’d be overjoyed to have it “completed.” I didn’t understand authors who talked about grieving a bit through the publishing process. Suddenly, though, I do. It’s all so final, and I’m going to miss the world of
Miracle Beach
. But, as Glory says at the end of the novel, “It’s time.”

I’m now hard at work on my second novel, which I’ve promised my editor won’t take nearly as long to write as
Miracle Beach
. Which is good, because it’s due out next year. I hope to follow that with a third, fourth, and fifth . . . and so on. Most people dream of winning the lottery; I get to sit down every day and write stories. I’ve already won.

1. Discuss the novel’s title,
Miracle Beach
, and the First Nations legend that Sophie tells Jack about how the beach got its name. What does the legend have to do with a miracle? Is the title fitting for this book, and the lives of Macy, Jack, Magda, and Glory?

 

2. Discuss the novel’s setting. What role does it play in the story, and in each character’s life? Is it significant? If so, why? If not, why not?

 

3. Have you ever witnessed a death, lived through the death of a person close to you, or watched a friend or relative cope with grief? How do your experiences compare to Macy’s, Jack’s, or Magda’s? How does each of the characters handle grief? Is there a right or wrong way to grieve?

 

4. What would you do if you found yourself in Macy’s, Jack’s, or Magda’s situation? Which of their choices do you think are good ones and which are not so wise?