Writing Lessons: How to Navigate Pushback from Your Antagonist(s)

WITH THIS BLOG POST, we continue the Writing Lessons series on The Memoir Project, in which well-published writers write from their area of expertise on one topic of memoir writing. In this post, writer Rachel Michelberg takes on the tricky topic of how to navigate pushback from your antagonist. Read up as she limns this difficult space for you.

How to Navigate Pushback From Your Antagonist(s)

By Rachel Michelberg

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” – Anne Lamott

True enough. Yet if they hadn’t behaved better, you might not have a story. If your antagonist is a disease, or another natural traumatic event, then there’s no concern about a potential negative response. For most of us however, there is that bad actor – someone who causes us harm or forces a dilemma from which we must persevere, rise above, overcome. Voilà, your story.

I’ve talked to writers who have said they’d like to write a memoir but prefer to wait until their bad actor dies. They don’t want to deal with negative repercussions: anger, resentment, being bad-mouthed. Understandable. But for those of us who choose to write while the events are fresh, and the bad guys are still very much alive, how do we manage potential pushback? Pushback that can range from slight annoyance to getting sued?

This possibility continues to be a cause for apprehension as my memoir Crash: How I Became a Reluctant Caregiver is about to be published. A sub-plot in my story involves a woman who stalked me and terrorized my family. Someone – especially with that kind of past behavior, could most certainly be triggered to react with spite.

And what about our reputations? My “day job” is a voice and piano teacher, working with kids and teens as well as adults. What if this woman smears my name, trolls me, on social media? Will I lose students? I have a strong presence on Facebook and Instagram, especially as I work on book promotion.

While we cannot control others’ actions, we can inform ourselves about the potential consequences of writing about a character in a less-than-positive light. In my case, I consulted a literary attorney about the potential adverse effects. She advised me that since I had taken out a restraining order on the stalker – which is a public document – I can prove that there was truth to my story; any accusations of defamation of character or libel likely wouldn’t hold up. Also, to the author’s advantage, lawsuits are expensive. Most people – no matter how angry –  will think twice before taking that route.

Sometimes, however, these lawsuits do proceed. Augusten Burroughs was famously sued for his memoir Running with Scissors. He and his publisher settled and – among other concessions – he agreed to call the work a “book” instead of a memoir. But he didn’t change a word in the story. It was then made into a successful film with Alec Baldwin and Annette Bening, so there’s that.

Consequences of a negative characterization aren’t usually that dramatic, but there can indeed be consequences. What can you do to protect yourself?

1. 1. Change names. In Crash I used made-up names not only for the antagonists, also for a few of the benign characters, to protect their anonymity. In some cases the name-change might be apparent to those who can guess the character’s true identity, but it is another layer of protection both for them and the author.

    

   2. Invite a discussion prior to publication, especially if your relationship with your antagonist has improved since the story (and if not, it might be the perfect opportunity to make peace.) A “heads-up” can encourage them to feel less resentful, more respected. As the British would say, no one wants to be gobsmacked.

    

   3. Include an acknowledgement (as Tara Westover did in Educated) that you wrote events as you remember them, and you don’t intend to cause anyone harm. I’m using a standard disclaimer on my copyright page: “There are as many versions of every family’s history as there are family members. This is mine. Some names of people and places have been changed.”

    

   4. Consult a literary attorney to determine the risk of a lawsuit. Usually the risk is low, and you might gain peace of mind.

    

   5. If you are trolled, trust that the people in your life who respect and care about you will not judge you for your honesty. Remember Anne Lamott’s words. They should have behaved better.

My memoir has been called raw, blatantly honest. It would have been impossible to write it without that honesty, that vulnerability. I realize – and accept – that I’m taking a risk by writing my truth.

It’s my story to tell.

Crash: How I Became A Reluctant Caregiver

 An excerpt

by Rachel Michelberg

David wants to take me flying—it’s his passion. He’s been taking lessons and recently earned his private pilot’s license, allowing him to fly with passengers when the visibility is good. Flying off to lunch in Santa Rosa is intriguing. But I’m reluctant—not afraid exactly, but I detest that clutching in my stomach when there’s a big drop. I haven’t been on a roller coaster since my brother and sister dragged me onto the Giant Dipper at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk when I was nine. But I want to show David I’m adventurous, open to new experiences.

David is careful in the preflight check. As I help him get the plane ready, I feel very daring breaking out of my comfort zone. He’s rented a low-wing airplane—the view isn’t as good, but it will be more stable.

The weather is beautiful. Seeing so many familiar places from that perspective is breathtaking, despite the wings.

“There’s Mount Diablo,” he says. “And pretty soon you’ll see the Benicia Bridge.”

I feel very grown up—headset, jetting off to lunch, my tall blue-eyed European date.

A few weeks later David suggests a longer excursion: to Monterey. A bit pricey—in addition to the $300 plane rental, we’d need a car to get around to the tide pools at Point Lobos, dinner in Carmel.

David and I watch otters playing in the surf and stroll Ocean Avenue hand-in-hand. He encourages me to have a glass of wine with dinner but for him, he says, “No alcohol within eight hours of flying.”

His adherence to the rules is comforting.

We arrive back to the Monterey airport late. It’s already getting dark. Though David’s license permits him to fly at night, I can see he’s worried.

“Is something wrong?”

“Coastal fog coming in.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not sure yet.”

It’s now completely dark. Where there had been a few high clouds earlier, a thick, soupy fog billows past the few pole lights in the airport parking lot. Though it’s a Sunday evening—normally a high-traffic time—the airport is completely deserted.

“It’s a high-wing plane. You told me they weren’t as stable. Should we drive home?” I don’t really want to. Besides the expense of renting the car for another day, it will be a pain in the ass to retrieve the plane. And we both have to be at work early the next morning.

“No, we’ll be OK.” He doesn’t look at me. I watch him perform the preflight check in complete silence—uncharacteristically. I’m shivering in the damp cold.

We board and put on our headsets. I can see nothing except blackness and thick white mist. Carl Sandburg’s poem erupts in my mind:

The fog comes on little cat’s feet.

It sits looking over harbor and city
on silent haunches

and then moves on.

May it move on.

Within a minute of taking off, the fog tightens around us like swaddling. It’s anything but calming. The plane shakes violently, rattling and bucking like the Giant Dipper.

I’m going to die. We’re going to crash, and we’ll both die.

“Monterey Approach, this is Cessna four-two-niner-bravo, en route to San Jose. I am disoriented. Please advise. I am disoriented.”

Possibly the worst thing I’ve ever heard.

Please. Please don’t let us die. Please. I want to see my mother. I want to sing Carmen again. I want to have children.

The rattling and shaking intensifies. It is complete whiteout. I’m trapped in a cage that’s being throttled by a pair of giant evil hands.

Not exactly cat’s feet.

“Cessna four-two-niner-bravo, maintain visual flight rules. You are not cleared for flight in instrument conditions,” I hear the voice crackle into my headset. Jesus. We’re about to die a fiery death, and David is being scolded. “Turn left heading 080, direct Salinas, climb and maintain 3000 feet.”

David clutches the yoke. As suddenly as we entered the fog bank, we’re gliding through a black starless night. The fog below us is like a white shroud. Except for the whirr of the Cessna engine, all is quiet.

We fly in silence for the remaining thirty minutes. In silence we land and close down the plane. We drive back to David’s apartment, where I’ve left my car.

I want to go home. I don’t want to sleep with him—not even be in the same room. I’m not angry—I can see that David is punishing himself plenty. He’s sick with embarrassment and guilt, barely looks at me. Still I want to get away. I have no idea what to say. For sure I can’t comfort him.

But I stay that night in the awkward silence. I want to show that I’m compassionate, nurturing.

That I won’t abandon him when things got rough.

A few weeks later David reluctantly shows me a letter from the FAA. His license is being temporarily suspended, pending further investigation.

“I’m sorry,” I say. But I’m not.

Copyright to Rachel Michelberg

Author bio: RACHEL MICHELBERG grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area and still enjoys living there with her husband, Richard, and their two dogs, Nala and Beenie. She earned her Bachelor of Music degree in vocal performance from San Jose State University and has performed leading roles in musicals and opera from Carmen to My Fair Lady as well as the part of the Mother Abbess (three times!) in The Sound of Music. When Rachel isn’t working with one of her twenty voice and piano students, she loves gardening, hiking, and making her own bone broth. CRASH: How I Became a Reluctant Caregiver is published by SheWrites Press. It is her first book. Find her online at her website.

I hope you enjoyed reading about how to navigate pushback from your antagonist(s) here in this marvelous guest post.

And don’t forget to listen to my podcast. It’s called QWERTY, and it’s by, for and about writers.