Sharon Berg Interviews Susan Wadds

Content warning: Child sexual abuse

(Regal House Publishing, 2024)

Susan Wadds

Sharon Berg:             Everyone knows you’re busy promoting your book right now, so allow me to say I’m grateful you’ve made the time to engage in this interview. Your main character in what the living do, Brett, has a long history of sudden losses. First, a house fire causes the loss of her father and sister. Then she feels abandoned due to her mother’s reaction to the loss of her husband and one child. Next, a cousin takes advantage of her vulnerable state. All of this loss affects her decision-making as an adult. Brett escapes an abusive relationship, has an abortion, and remains unable to accept the wholesome attention of Cole, her lover. Just as they are splitting up, she’s faced with a horrendous choice. Deciding to address a cervical cancer diagnosis with an operation, it’s discovered she’s in the second trimester of pregnancy. What’s the rationale for such a long list of complications in Brett’s life? Does one tragedy attract another?
 
Susan Wadds:      Because Brett stubbornly refuses to acknowledge her grief and guilt, without more than one dramatic turn, she might go on believing she has control of her life. Her less-than-admirable choices provoke major challenges, so in that way one tragedy does invite another. From age eleven, Brett’s view of the world has been distorted. Her actions reflect her inability see clearly or to distinguish evil from wholesome. What the turns in this story endeavour to illustrate is how things simmering in the unconscious can have powerful repercussions.
 
SB:      So the key to Brett’s story is regaining control? That’s interesting because an attentive reader might say what the living do searches for answers to complex questions about behaviour and choice in the same way Michelangelo examined cadavers, peeling the skin back to examine the mechanics of what’s been hidden over the years. In your story, the focus falls on how the grooming of Brett, aged 11, disrupts her future relationships, attaching like muscle to the bones of her behaviour as an adult. She’s in denial of its impact until she witnesses the grooming of an 11-year-old cousin by the same man. What is the rationale in your story for rendering Brett powerless to accept her abuse as wrong until she witnesses his grooming of another child? Does this parallel suggest further long-term effects of sexual abuse?
 
SW:    Long answer: In order to have a realistic character arc, one must have a reasonable grasp of psychology. What makes a character do stupid things. Why they think the way they do even when it doesn’t make logical sense. Brett’s “relationship” with Dylan gave her comfort and pleasure, so she is reluctant to consider it abuse. Her rationalization is, “How could it have been bad when it felt so good?” There was no one there for her after losing her family, and Dylan was kind, patient, and made her feel both worthy and desirable. Again, the unconscious is a powerful engine, so she “used” that relationship by attempting to be (or imagining she was) in control. Sex, her one true pleasure in life, gives her some semblance of power as well as comfort. She’d be unlikely to enter another abusive relationship because her strategy is to stay “on top,” as it were. So, while she appears to search for answers by peeling back layers and asking those who can’t offer answers (i.e.: dead animals, her dreams, the quiet Mel), she consistently avoids what is true. If she admits the truth, her unconscious fear is she will be identified as a victim.
 
SB:      I can understand that victimhood and its opposite, the attempt to impose control, can both seem less than appealing to someone who’s been abused. Brett doesn’t want to be thought of as a cougar though her boyfriend, Cole, is 11 years younger. However, this is similar to the age difference between Brett as an 11-year-old girl and the older cousin who groomed and abused her. She spends a lot of time thinking she’s not right for Cole, though he’s clearly chosen her whole-heartedly. As the story’s architect, did you plan to present this parallel between Brett’s abuse as a child and her choice of a present-day lover?
 
SW:    After her abusive (super-sexy) relationship with Mark ends, she chooses Cole (younger, smitten, great in bed, and certain not to hurt her). Perfect, right? Here, the parallel with Dylan diverges since she isn’t “grooming” Cole, although she does feel as though she’s using him. Unconsciously, she doesn’t feel good/clean enough for the goodness of Cole. The twist is that Cole is hip to her. He sees her, whereas she’s essentially decided not to see the truth of what was happening in her past. So it wasn’t a parallel per se, but certainly she made a choice informed by early abuse.
 
SB:      I worry that the parallel of clean/good in the general public’s mind would likely be dirty/bad. I certainly remember feeling changed by abuse, though I was only four years old when it happened to me. I also note that Cole actually states many times that he loves her, but he also claims he doesn’t understand Brett’s motivations. I’m reminded of the way the public responded to the revelation Alice Munro’s daughter was sexually abused by her stepfather. Is the struggle that Brett and Cole experience, their knowing and not knowing details, part of the stance your book addresses with regard to our contemporary social and political concerns around sexual abuse?
 
SW:    Andrea Skinner’s revelations emerged long after I completed the novel, so when it came to light, I thought, my god, it’s everywhere. But the public didn’t take notice until she shouted from the rooftops. Sexual grooming is an issue: preying on the vulnerable.
 
There’s also the subplot in what the living do of Norah being unable to carry a baby to full term and having to prove herself worthy in order to adopt, examining how unfair it is given that any “idiot” can make babies without having to prove themselves.
 
I’ve given Brett a hint of Indigenous romanticism, which many settlers fall prey to. Rather than asking the right questions, she simply assumes. It’s only after five years of working together, for instance, that she finds out Mel’s wife is in a wheelchair.
 
I also think that, whether from echoes of ancient religious ideology, the belief in karma as existence ensuring past errors and crimes are addressed, or that one didn’t exercise enough or eat properly, it’s a pervasive idea existing in most cultures that the ill are somehow to blame for their own state of being.

​​SB:      Okay, in terms of the audience for what the living do, I’m sure you’re aware of a group who will be drawn to reading it, and another group you believe should read it. Are those two groups different? Please elaborate.
 
SW:    I’d hoped men would read this book but didn’t imagine it would actually reach them. Since it is a woman-centric story dealing with all manner of women’s issues: sexual grooming, abortion, miscarriage, etc., I thought men would back away. What surprised me is the feedback I’ve received from many men about how they were touched and illuminated by it. I mean, wow. That’s worth the price of the paper! In part, I believe that is due to two male characters who are definitely not monsters. So the short answer is, men.
 
SB:      If you had to describe the primary emotion you’ve explored in what the living do, what would it be? Can you explain why you’ve chosen to focus on it? How close is it to the emotion(s) you deal with personally on the subject of your book?
 
SW:    Guilt. Misplaced guilt, in particular. The original impetus for the novel was my own grappling with a sense of guilt for having manifested cancer. That may sound strange, but when I was eighteen I was diagnosed with a blood disease, idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura. Idiopathic means the cause isn’t known. At that time I had the sense that there was an underlying emotional or psychological reason, but I had no means to explore, wondering only if it had to do with my fraught relationship with my mother. I believed I had caused the illness. So when I was diagnosed at thirty-seven with cervical cancer, and deeply involved with various alternative healing methods, I had the opportunity to delve into my psyche. I was in pursuit of unearthing aspects of myself that wanted me dead. I believed that cancer was my fault.
 
However, it didn’t make a compelling story to have her think that because she’d broken some poor guy’s heart, or had hers shredded, she deserved to die. I gave her a more complex story but the same realization—that disease and illness aren’t payback. I recognized how the pervasiveness of this notion that illness is punishment for sins from this or a past life has infiltrated our psyches. Brett didn’t “deserve” any of what happened to her, even though she made some ill-conceived choices.
 
SB:      I’m sorry to hear that you lived through that cancer experience, Susan. Facing such a diagnosis is certainly something most people would struggle with in their day-to-day lives. That and the influence of unexamined beliefs.
 
Now for a switch in topics. Titles are often one of the most difficult things to address, though some authors seem to begin there. How does one name one’s ideas? Then again, the publishing world seems to have accepted some pretty off-beat titles for books of late. What was your experience in developing a title for what the living do? Were you focused on Brett’s indecision about letting the cancer take its natural course or fighting it?
 
SW:    This is my favourite question! The title came much later in the process. It was initially titled “Roadkill,” but that felt a little rough and too on-the-nose. So then it was “Home Fires,” but when a friend had some ARCs printed for me, it looked like “Home Fries.” So, we weren’t going to do that! “What the Living Do” is one of my favourite Marie Howe poems. Since Brett’s young sister who perished in the fire is always with her, and part of Brett also died when she lost her family, she struggles to find out what, in fact, the living do. That title landed perfectly. So yes, the focus is on Brett wondering if it would be easier to let go and die or try to figure out how to live. 
 
SB:      Beyond the need to try on different titles for a work, authors often speak about the need to write multiple drafts for a book. What was your experience? Did the length of your book change dramatically at any point in time after you’d finished the first draft?
 
SW:    I initially wrote the core of the story in about ten pages. I’d envisioned it as a short story. However, after a friend remarked it felt like yelling the way events tumbled over one another, I had to rethink how to best convey the story I wanted to tell. In the first drafts, the protagonist interpreted the cancer diagnosis as payback, but I had no backstory for her. I had to give her dramatic, if erroneous, rationale. Then the story grew arms and legs. What kind of person was this character? I found her on a road crew managing traffic with a stop sign. I needed her tough, so I decided to have her do more than just hold a sign. I had her scrape roadkill. Why? She needed answers. Why? There was a fire and she feels responsible. Why? Bit by bit, the story presented itself. Images. Prompts. All the roadkill on the road where I live. She needed a friend. I gave her Norah. And so on. The pages accumulated and after four years, there was a novel.
 
SB:      Your answer surprises me only because you haven’t mentioned Mel, her work partner in scraping roadkill, as a friend. I feel he’s central to Brett taking a path of self-discovery/recovery in the first place. To take this question in a different direction, some books will require intensive research of a topic, an historical era, or some other aspect of the story. In your case, it might be First Nations ontology. Please describe the most intensive research you did for what the living do. How far would you travel to conduct your future research? Have you done most of your research in-person, on the internet, or through books and printed documents?
 
SW:    Aside from Cole, it seems most readers’ favourite character is Mel. He is based on my son’s uncle. Otherwise, the Ojibwe prayer near the end was one I found on the internet, but two Anishnaabemowin speakers, Candice Sawyer-King and her daughter, Janissa King, helped me make it authentic to the story.
 
I had to research road maintenance; in particular, how roadkill is disposed of. But I also needed to know what other sorts of jobs a worker would have, I went to the county yard where I had Brett working, and attempted to interview the workers. They were very suspicious. I think they thought I was some sort of investigator. They wouldn’t allow me onto the yard on foot, but let me drive through. I got a good look at the various service vehicles and could see inside the domes where sand is stored. Later, I pulled over to the side of the road where a county vehicle was stopped and was able to ask the worker more specific questions. No, they didn’t currently have women working there, but “of course” they would hire qualified women. Also, he was the one who detailed the various methods of disposing of roadkill.
 
I was fortunate to have a client whose father drove a snowplough. I drove with Paul McKerroll as he detailed the workings of the machines. The story about hitting the woman as Brett spun out of control on black ice is taken directly from a story he told me.
           
For the novel I’m currently working on, I’ve already done quite a bit of research. One character is a pilot, the other an opera singer; neither profession is in my wheelhouse. I’ve been attending operas, interviewing opera singers, and reading up on the various paths to the stage. For the pilot, I’ve been to the small airport near where I live and asked some basic questions. I plan to book a personal flight in a small fixed-wing plane in order to get first-hand experience and to interview the pilot.
 
I also need to interview psychotherapists who specialize in hypnotherapy and have experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder, which may take me further afield. With Zoom calls now making connections less taxing in terms of travel, I may not need to go far! We’ll see. I am willing, though. Authenticity is so important.
 
SB:      Sexual abuse is often hidden by those who’ve suffered from it, for various reasons. Yet, readers are often interested in knowing how much of a writer’s work is invented and how much is autobiographical, whether the focus is dysfunctional families, war wounds, the details of romance, or training to be a pilot. Your character, Brett, wrestles with revealing her prior experience. How different from your characters are you, as an author? Would you care to share your approach/thoughts on this aspect of your readers’ curiosity?
 
SW:    You are so right. This is the most-asked question I receive. The core of the story is based on my experience of discovering I was pregnant while trying to heal an active cancer. I had employed many alternative methods, including various psychoanalytic approaches, because I wanted to uncover any underlying reason for the disease that wasn’t environmental or genetic. During the process, I recognized what actually underpinned my quest was a belief that I was at fault. That I had done something or had something done to me. Once I realized the folly of this line of thinking, I wanted to illustrate that. Where the story differs is that although it was risky, there was no question as to whether or not I’d keep the baby. He’s a beautiful twenty-nine-year-old man, and we are both healthy! The backstory of the fire and deaths is pure fabrication.
 
A dear friend had struggled for years to conceive, so when I, who hadn’t thought I ever wanted children, found out I was pregnant, it seemed a cruel joke. I actually entertained the idea of giving her my baby. Although that was the inspiration for the situation between Brett and Norah, Barbara and I have never fought. And even when it was suspected that I carried twins and suggested she take one, she quickly shut that line of thought down. She is happily my son’s godmother.
 
Although Brett’s story isn’t my story, much of her scrappy personality is what you might call my alter-ego, or inside voice. Having her say what she means is a great way for me to get out what I don’t normally express. However, that said, my friend Richard Scrimger, who has known me since the eighties, says he can hear me and my personality loud and clear. So maybe I’m not fooling anyone but myself!
 
The conversations with Brett’s co-worker, Mel, are based on conversations I’ve had or overheard with my ex-husband and son’s family. The skunk medicine anecdote was relayed to me through the generations.
 
SB:      Those conversations with Mel are so deft and accurate in their depiction of the difference in conversational style between First Nations and settlers that, for me, Mel is easily the second most important character in the book. And speaking of the book, many authors say a writer never feels they’re finished with their work, that they’d always wish to adjust and tweak their writing. Do you feel that way about what the living do? What would you change?
 
SW:    I felt complete when I came to the end of the story. I felt it was satisfying and hopeful while not overly “happy.” However, I’m often asked about a sequel. Readers want to know how the characters managed. Are they healthy? Cured? Is the baby okay? Do they stay together? Although I don’t think there’s enough story for a sequel, perhaps I could have added a postscript from five years later… just to reassure readers that they’re all doing just fine.
 
SB:      If that isn’t the perfect way to end an interview about a book, I just don’t know of a better choice. You’ve unveiled much for readers to think about in this interview, beyond what you explore in what the living do. I’ve really enjoyed our repartee, Susan. Thank you, once again, for your candor.

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​Winner of the 2024 Canadian Book Club Award and 2024 Indies finalist for her novel what the living do, and the 2016 Writers Union of Canada’s Prose Contest, Susan Wadds’ work has appeared in various publications, including carte blanche, The Blood Pudding, Room, and Waterwheel Review. A graduate of the Humber School for Writers and a proud member of The Writers Union of Canada and The Canadian Authors Association, Susan is a certified Amherst Writers and Artists (AWA) workshop facilitator. She grew up in Montreal, Toronto, and London, Ontario, and has lived in British Columbia, India, France, and Italy. She’s sort of settled down and currently lives on a quiet river on Williams Treaty land in traditional Anishinaabe territory with an odd assortment of humans and cats.

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​Sharon Berg attended the Banff School of Fine Arts Writing Studio in 1982 and was accepted to Banff’s Leighton Artist Colony in 1987. She taught in Ontario after studying to become a teacher with a focus on First Nations Education: B.A./Laurentian U.; B.Ed/U of T; M.Ed/York U; and D.Ed/UBC. She received a Certificate in Magazine Journalism from Ryerson U and is an alumni of Humber College’s Writing Program. Sharon founded and operated the international literary E-Zine Big Pond Rumours (2006-2019) and its associated press, releasing chapbooks of Canadian poets as prizes for the magazine’s contests. Her poetry appears as full books with Borealis, Coach House, and Cyberwit, and she has four chapbooks with BPR Press. Sharon’s short fiction is with Porcupine’s Quill, and her nonfiction appears with BPR Press. Her writing appears across Canada, the USA, Mexico, Chile, England, Wales, Netherlands, Germany, Siberia, Romania, India, Persia, Singapore, and Australia. Her 3rd poetry collection Stars in the Junkyard was a Finalist in the 2022 International Book Awards, and her narrative history The Name Unspoken: Wandering Spirit Survival School won a 2020 IPPY Award for Regional Nonfiction. When she retired from teaching, she opened Oceanview Writers Retreat in Charlottetown (Terra Nova National Park) Newfoundland.