Caitlin Shetterly: LibraryThing Author Interview

Caitlin Shetterly is a frequent contributor to National Public Radio, and the founder and artistic director of the Winter Harbor Theatre Company. Her latest book, Made for You and Me: Going West, Going Broke, and Finding Home (Voice) is based on her "Weekend Edition" series "Recession Diary" and her blog, Passage West. Shetterly lives in Portland, Maine.

This book has been praised extensively for its honesty. How difficult was it to reveal so much? Did you ever feel the desire to hold back, and why?

The writing process is so private that when I'm in it, I feel very protected. But of course, once a book gets out there in the world, then you think to yourself, "Wow, I really opened up a lot about my life!" In the end, though, I believe that it's important to tell the truth. Arthur Miller said " The job of the artist...is to remind people of what they have chosen to forget." So, I believe that my job is to be totally present, human, real, truthful and that in doing so I will make the world just a little bit less lonely for someone else because, in the end, this is a two-way dialogue between me, the writer, and the reader.

The only thing I  DID hold back was that I changed my son's name. When I was writing the book he was barely one year old, and I felt strongly that I needed his permission to use his name. Also we live in such a crazy world, I wanted to put a little distance between him and the book.

Your animals are characters in this story and come across as clearly as your family in descriptions. Can you talk about your relationship with animals growing up and tell us what animals are in your family now?

I love that you asked this question. I think I speak for many of us when I say that our animals are our family, too. When you think about it, our relationships with our animals are so intimate, so privately primal. Our animals often are with us when we make love or fight; when we are depressed and sad or joyful and running around the house in our underwear. And this intimacy is so beautiful—and so important to respect. I think how one is with his or her animals is the biggest window into the soul of a person.

I grew up as a child of the back-to-the-land movement in a little house in the big woods of Maine. And my mother was a wild bird rehabilitator. But that sounds too narrow, really, for who she is: She became, as we were growing up, an expert on the land and animals that we share this earth with. And so, when I was young, I raised a baby skunk whose mother had been killed by a car. I also raised three baby raccoons: Albert Einstein, Ben Franklin and George Washington (whom we called Runty). They followed me everywhere in a perfect line from largest (Ben) to smallest (Runty)—I was their mother. And, we were often raising baby birds or we'd have a larger bird—like an owl or cormorant—recovering from an accident in our bathroom or on the dining room table. These wild animals that came into our home taught me an important lesson in the courage it takes to just survive—and the grace with which so many beings on this earth carry on.

Your story resonates with many people because they have either been in your situation or can imagine it because they have similar lives and dreams. Can you talk about the connections you have made with strangers because of sharing this experience?

Oh, gosh. It's been just wonderful to get out there on the road and hear people's reactions to the book and hear their tough stories from this recession. Here's a little excerpt of something I posted recently in my blog about what I've gotten back by putting this book out there:

"I end every one of my readings with a sing-along of Woody Guthrie’s famous song 'This Land is Your Land.' At first this seemed like a fun thing to do—almost a moment of theatre in which we all get to participate. But then I realized something larger was going on. Not only are we reclaiming that song for right now—and remembering that it really was written as an angry song about the promise of the American Dream—but in the version I teach my audiences we're singing a verse that has been edited out of the lyrics school children are taught today. It goes like this:

One bright sunny morning, in the shadow of a steeple;
By the relief office, I saw my people--.
As they stood there hungry, I stood there wonderin' if
This land was made for you and me?

I often tell the story of the young woman who arrived at a reading of mine (in a cavernous Borders) clutching a little purple envelope with a letter inside it for me. She stood in front of me as I hovered while people settled themselves and the announcement of my reading went out over the Borders PA system. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She told me that her husband—with two degrees—has been laid off five times in the last three years. And that now, finally, they've moved in with his parents and he’s gotten a job as a custodian at a local retirement home. She told me that only now with his new job, do they feel that they can dare to start dreaming again for themselves and their two small boys. That night six people showed up at my reading (and one of them was my mother in law!) I said to them, at the end, 'You know, I usually make everyone sing with me, but you’re such a small group...' And they said to me, 'No we want to.' So I passed out the photocopies of Woody's song and we started singing. Six small voices plus the voice of the Borders employee who joined in (his headset still on, his maroon Borders sweater pulled down over his waist, his nametag jiggling) ringing across the tables of stuff—books, games, chocolates, toys. And people who were milling around the store stopped and joined in at the parts they knew. And suddenly this small, sort of insignificant moment in South Portland, Maine, became something of a movement. I don't know how else to describe it but it seemed that just in singing this song and these verses together we were somehow owning, in a totally human way, what has happened to this country. It felt good." --from Passage West.

I love the descriptions of your desperate writing sessions between nursing. What is your writing process and schedule like now that your son is older?

It's all over the place! I grab time when I can and when Dan isn't busy—we trade off. This morning, for instance, was the PERFECT day—if only all days could be this way: We woke up and had a very nourishing breakfast of thinly sliced okra fried in a pan with a little olive oil and salt, some fried up quinoa and on TOP of all that a fried egg—with lots of coffee for Dan and me. And then the whole family piled into the car and we drove down Route 1 to the beach. On our way we dropped Dan off with his tripod and camera to make some photographs of a jungly mass on the side of the road. While he worked, I took Hopper—our dog—and our son, Master M., to the beach. Then, after running around and playing, we all piled back in the car and picked Daddy up. Now I get a little time to write. Not every day goes this smoothly. But today was glorious!

I once heard this story of a writer—a man—who got up every morning and ran many miles and then wrote all day long. His wife made all his meals and brought them to him while he continued to work doggedly at his desk. This was just their schedule. I can't imagine what that would feel like because I write when I can and, also, when it works for my family. Also, for me, it's these moments of being totally present for my family that actually inform the work I do.

What is the most significant change in how you live your life since this experience of hitting rock bottom?

I live in a much more communal way. You know, I think so many of us in our twenties and thirties were brought up believing that all we had to do was work hard and that the world was our oyster, as long as we persevered. I don't think that way anymore. I think we have to come together and lend out a hand to help and ask for help to weather tough times. When I was rereading the Little House on the Prairie Books (which, by the way, are woven through my story) when I was pregnant, I remarked upon how even out on the prairie, neighbors, even 100 miles away, were important. Pa would walk to a neighbor's to help him sow his wheat and that neighbor would walk back and help Pa sow his wheat. They lived this way and didn't think about ONLY being out there on the prairie and doing it all totally alone. We should, too. Now, since living with my mother we've created a little bit of the constant communal living situation with our landlady downstairs who will watch our son or we'll all eat together and contribute odds and ends to the meal or Dan and I will shovel the driveway in winter or rake in the spring—it's a way of being a part of something larger together.

You describe yourself as an actor and a writer. Now you are also a mother. How much of your creative life is spent on each? How does each of your talents inform the others?

These days most of my creative life is spent on getting the message of Made for You and Me out there. Soon, though, I will be writing something new. But I'm also hungry to get back to theatre—I love the hallowed spaces of theatres and the clever, malleable, courageous talent of actors.

I'd say that since I've acted and directed I've fine-tuned my ear for how people really speak. How often have you read a book and said to yourself, "I don't believe anyone talks to each other that way!" I think I'm pretty good at making sure everything sounds natural—because as an actor (and a director) we must simply just speak to each other—that's where acting begins.

Your descriptions of food are mouth-watering. You even go so far as to give recipes, in a quick, unobtrusive way. Could you talk a little bit about your relationship with food and how it illuminates your story? Have you been asked to write a cookbook yet?

Everyone asks me this! It's so funny—the food has gotten so much attention in the book I'm sort of shocked! But it's also lovely because it's this neat little corner of my story that people really relate to in a way I did not expect—this is the fun part of getting a book out there!

I just write about food as a part of my daily life—I mean how often are we thinking about what we're going to make for dinner as we play with blocks with our children? Or as we eat breakfast how often are we thinking "What do I need to take out of the freezer?" It's just who we are. So I write that way, with the meandering thoughts and recipes that inform my life coming in and out of the story just as they would in my regular day.

As for the cookbook, maybe! There's so much interest in that now, I'm sort of considering it.

Anyone who read this book is dying to know how you all are now. Is Dan still in graduate school? Did the publication of the book make things a lot easier or just easy enough? How is life as the mother of a toddler?

Dan will graduate in a few weeks with his MFA. Being a mom of a toddler is wonderful as long as everyone understands that he's our CEO. As long as Dan and I march in line, life goes pretty smoothly!

One's life is rarely changed forever with a book—there just isn't enough money in it. So, what happens next is always the question. But what I can say is that I'm not afraid anymore of our financial lives falling apart—if they do again, we can go home again. So I don't worry about it anymore.

What are you reading now and what would we see if we browsed your bookshelves?

I'm about to begin Townie by Andre Dubus III. And I'm eager to dive into my friend Kenneth Slawenski's biography of J.D. Salinger, and I've got my friend Cheryl Tan's book, A Tiger in the Kitchen in my pile...so I've got some reading to do this summer!

Would you ever go west again?

Yes. I'm always up for an adventure. And I love this country, so to cross it again would be an honor. You know, one of the most important things I learned over the last few years was that Americans are good people: I didn't know that—truly know it—until our lives collapsed. But when they did and I was on NPR with my first audio diary talking about what had happened to us, people all across the country reached out to us and offered food, places to stay on our long way home, plane fare and, unbelievably, one person even offered us land in Arizona! We didn't take anyone up on these offers, but we did stay in touch with many listeners who followed my blog on our way home. And, one of those listeners who had offered her home to me just drove two hours each way to meet me at a reading. When I met her we both reached out and hugged each other and we both wept—she had been there for my family, listening, offering a place to stay, sending words of kindness during such a hard time. I will never forget how good people were to us.

Thank you Lisa, this was lovely!

—interview by Lisa Carey