The irony is not lost on me that on the heels of last month’s newsletter, I’m here with a story about how I failed to follow my own advice.
A couple weeks ago, I agreed to sit for a FOUR HOUR interview with a company that produces the series American Monster on the ID channel. They were profiling a 2005 domestic homicide case of mine and requested my participation.
After confirming with the victim’s family that they were on board, I agreed and actually felt excited about being part of this project. I obtained the trial transcript from my old office and, after only a few pages in, was taken aback by how much I’d forgotten about the case.
In fairness, the trial occurred eighteen years ago, and I’d go on to try many, many more. But what really shocked me was how feelings of anger and frustration flooded over me as I read what was essentially a record of epic legal battles between the defense lawyers, the judge and me. I found myself feeling exactly as I’d felt eighteen years ago, except with an added weariness that comes when you’re closing in on 60, rather than just having crossed 40.
But I digress…
As the date for the interview approached, I developed significant worry about whether I’d be able to answer questions in a competent way. I requested information about the questions I’d be asked, but only received a very sparse outline a couple days prior to the interview date.
Did I mention they kept changing the date?
When that date arrived, winter returned with a vengeance. Wind gusts up to thirty miles per hour wrecked havoc with my already unruly hair. I showed up to a hotel meeting room shrouded in darkness, with the exception of the all-too-bright lights for the camera. There were no hair and makeup people; just one guy about my age operating the camera and a younger guy sitting off in a corner working on a laptop.
My interviewer was a young woman in the U.K., so I stared at her through a small screen. She asked questions I felt ill-prepared to answer, like what was the town like where the murder took place? Could I describe the procedure for how I was assigned the case? What was it like when the police brought the case in? Could I talk about the Grand Jury process?
In that moment, my brain acted like a giant block of Swiss cheese. Information that once came easily to me was nowhere to be found.
It didn’t help that the interview was scheduled from 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. and it was up to me to request a break if I needed some nutritional sustenance. My lips started sticking together (is this on camera?). The questions were blending together and seeming annoyingly repetitive. At one point, my discomfort ramped up to the point where I thought I might pass out.
I remember describing the cycle of domestic violence. How victims often return to their abusers, despite it not being in their best interests. I described how this particular defendant was nothing more than a controlling, lying, abusive _______ (you can fill in the blank). When, after about three hours, I finally got to talk about the trial, I described my cross-examination of the defendant and how I fought to show the jury he was nothing more than a liar, when the defense wanted them to think of him as a victim of his own drug abuse.
And then, it all became just too much.
At the four hour mark, after explaining that the defendant was convicted of two counts of first degree murder and is spending the rest of his life in prison, the chirpy interviewer asked me for my “reflections” on the case.
What????
Dear Reader, that’s when I broke. I had nothing left to give. As my eyes welled up (so embarrassing) I told them I was done. And then I mentioned secondary trauma. They offered resources.
I wanted to tell them that I have all the resources I need. But I was uninterested in prolonging this experience even one more minute, so I wished them well and departed, back into the wind that blew my stupid hair back into my stupid face, causing it to stick to the tears that escaped my stupid eyes as I scolded my stupid self for losing my composure.
It’s amazing how reflecting on my past job awakened such strong emotions. And if I had to narrow it down, I’d say the primary emotion I felt on that day was anger—anger that a person could shoot his sleeping wife in the back of her head and try to stage it as a suicide. And all the anger I harbored towards this guy, his lawyers and the judge—who gave the defense way too much leeway in what they could throw at the jury—came crashing back.
I’m understanding how in the years I prosecuted people who did terrible things, anger fueled me and masked a lot of other feelings that I didn’t want to face. It’s weird to feel those feelings now, and yet I believe it’s ultimately a good thing. After allowing my inner child to cry it out and feel ashamed about losing my composure, I set about building myself back up.
I assured myself that of the four hours they spent with me, maybe five minutes total will be used in the show. It’s not in their best interest to edit my responses in a way that makes me look incompetent. I wasn’t a complete boob, even though I spent the entire drive home believing I was. I said some good things. I was articulate most of the time and was fixating on those moments when I felt unsure of myself.
And even though I wished I could have been less invested in my performance and more able to let go of my need to be perfect, as Popeye would say: I AM WHAT I AM. After all, in the great big world—and even in the much smaller timeline of my own life—those four miserable hours are just a tiny blip.
Just like that miserable but ultimately triumphant prosecution was, eighteen years ago.
BOOK-RELATED NEWS:
Last month, I had an amazing couple of days in La Crosse Wisconsin, where I participated in a book club and signed books at Pearl Street Books. You can see photos on my WEBSITE.
I recently received the published article from an interview I did with D Magazine (located in Dallas/Fort Worth). I thought it turned out really well and you can read it HERE.
This Saturday, March 16th, I’m honored to be among the workshop presenters at the Rosemount Writer’s Festival! I’ll also be signing and selling books, so stop by and say hi!
Finally, thanks so much to all of you who have encouraged me to put out an audiobook version of Crossing Fifty-One! My agent has submitted it to several audiobook publishers, and I’m hopeful one of them will pick it up. Reviews are so helpful for this kind of thing, so if you haven’t yet rated my book, you can do so HERE.
I’m chipping away at the proposal for book #2 about THE biggest case I ever handled and hope to have that finished in the next couple of months.
As always, I’m so very grateful for all the support and kind feedback I get as I continue this great adventure! Wishing you all the best in the coming month.
~ Until next time,
Debbie
BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS:
Nonfiction:
Last month I crossed off a bucket-list item when I visited Disneyland. I’d read this great biography of Walt Disney last summer, and was blown away by his creative mind. He’s controversial, that’s for sure, but his accomplishments cannot be denied. I was inspired!
Fiction:
Not gonna lie: this book is a bit dark. As someone whose current workplace is a most joyous environment, I first thought I might not be able to relate to the thirtysomething protagonist in her dystopian workplace. But the writing grabbed me, pulled me in, and never let go. I believe the ending can be interpreted in different ways, but that’s one reader’s perspective.
I’m so glad to have found you here! I first discovered your writing on Twitter, and it’s always resonated with me. Thanks for being so relatable and honest in your writing.
Fascinating account of that interview! Sometimes therapy appears in strange places at unannounced times when we least expect it. Unresolved anger has a way of reappearing to upset us and it will raise its ugly head again when we revisit the experience in such lucid detail. Natalie Goldberg's "Writing Down the Bones" helps free the writer within. That you are free to share your life's experiences in such a way that they come alive for us is such a welcome gift. Thank you and we look forward to your next book!