Our Selves and Our Stories: Snapshots in Time
By Kasey LeBlanc | May 23, 2023 |
This past weekend, I went home to visit my parents for Mother’s Day. Other than the rocks and shells and sea glass my mother collects, and which I bring her from whichever locale, near or far, I happen to visit over the course of a year, she is determined to get rid of pretty much everything else in the house. Which is how I found myself in the garage, going through boxes of things, looking to see what could be tossed or sold.
In doing so, I came across a box of old notebooks and a folder, inside of which was the four-page handwritten story I wrote in fourth or fifth grade, the first complete story I ever wrote. I have vague recollections of writing it for a school assignment, hand flying frantically across the pages the night before it was due (a theme that unfortunately continues to this day, though I’ve upgraded to a laptop), but what I don’t remember is where this story came from, or why I decided to write about a bus driver pulling a gun on his students on their first day of school.
The bus driver’s motivations are similarly vague, but when he says to the main character and her friends that they’ve “solved too many mysteries for [his] liking”, I recognize something about who I was when I wrote that story– a huge fan of Scooby-Doo and a voracious reader of all things mystery – Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, The Boxcar Children, Trixie Belden, the A to Z Mysteries… If you could name it, I had probably read it, and since I hadn’t managed to find myself as part of a real-life mystery solving youth gang, I did the next best thing. I gave life to one through my characters.
My characters (and their level of self-insertedness) evolved as I did over time. In my middle and high school writings, I can tell you exactly which boy I had a crush on as I wrote the first few pages of new story after new story. If I couldn’t get them to like me in real life, I could contrive some fantastical story to throw my characters together–sudden telepathy shared only by them, or being snowed in overnight at school.
By the time I was in college, I had mostly moved past that. Instead of two dozen barely started stories, I had one mostly complete, and then finally complete novel. My characters were no longer Kasey 2.0, but their own fully fleshed out characters. I felt good about where I was in my writing and was convinced that this book would be the one that would net me an agent and eventually a book deal.
And then, in the summer of 2017 I realized I was trans. And after putting my writing on hold for a time as I dealt with that, I had the initial idea for the book that will soon be out in the world as my debut novel, and immediately knew that this story was the one I was meant to tell. The novel’s main character, Asher, is a trans guy like me, though past that, many of the similarities end. Unlike me, he realized he was trans at a young age. He’s a visual artist, while I prefer the written word. He’s averse to conflict and struggles to stand up for himself–an issue I’ve never had, and he’s afraid to come out, particularly to his unlikely to be supportive grandparents. While there are moments, emotions, small specific bits stolen, or at least transfigured, directly from my own life, Asher is far from a self-insert.
And yet, Asher’s story is not one I could have written before 2017, before the me I became after realizing I was trans, and all the moments that have come since.
Though we are all constantly growing and changing, so often it happens so slowly or so consistently that it is only in hindsight we can recognize the changes. Like looking back at your elementary school picture day photos and wondering when exactly you lost the baby fat on your cheeks, or whether you chose your own outfit for that day for the first time. And sometimes, like realizing you are trans one summer day as you look into the mirror, the changes in who you are and who you will become hit you like a meteor striking the Earth.
The arrival of the pandemic was, in some ways, one of those meteors, probably not just for myself, but for many of us. I was living in university housing, provided in exchange for helping plan and run events within the undergraduate dorms, when the school I worked at became one of the first in the country to send its students home for the remainder of the semester. At the same time, my year-long Novel Incubator program went virtual. As everyone retreated to their family groups and “pods”, I was suddenly alone. Where before I spent hours in the dining hall chatting and working on my book, went out to bars and chatted books and life with the writer friends who had become like family in our almost year together, now I was confined almost entirely to my room. It wasn’t just a space for sleeping; now it was a space for hanging out, for eating, for working out, for working, and for a stretch of time, for staring blankly at my wall as loneliness-induced depression settled over me.
Though (like my main character Asher), I was raised Catholic, I had abandoned that religion, all religion really, in my early teens, and never much looked back. But when the pandemic hit, I found myself desperately in search of some type of community and, remembering the sense of community I had felt when I attended my first Shabbat service a few months before on the eve of the boy I tutor’s Bar Mitzvah, decided to look into an Intro to Judaism class.
Fast forward 3 years past that initial December Shabbat, and I am now officially Jewish. When my Rabbi hears that I’ve got a book coming out next year, he excitedly tells me that we need to add it to the Temple’s library and maybe plan an event. I tell him, almost embarrassed, that my book has no Jews in it. He says that’s fine because I’m a Jew, but the Kasey who wrote this book, the Kasey who couldn’t have written it before 2017, but who is a different Kasey than the one I am in 2023, was not. Except that even that distinction, between not-a-Jew and a Jew didn’t come upon me like a meteor striking the Earth. It came upon me like the uphill climb of a roller coaster, a steady climb whose beginning I can still see if I turn my head and look back.
My debut comes out approximately a year from now. And in that time, I will need to start work on a second novel for my publisher. It won’t be a sequel, but because I sold my novel in a two-book deal, it will have to be something.
The problem is that I don’t yet know what that something will be. And it terrifies me.
My Dad, one of my biggest fans, asks me why I don’t just go back to the book I had written before this one. He tells me how much he enjoyed the draft of that book. And while I’m flattered, the answer is this:
I can’t go back to that novel any more than I can go back to the self-insert stories of my middle school years, or the gunman-on-a-bus short story I wrote in fourth grade. Not just because I’ve grown as a writer, but because I’ve grown as a person.
My characters are not me, but they, like the worlds and stories they inhabit, are mine. We are inextricably linked. The Kasey of today can no more write a story devoid of Jews than I can write a story devoid of trans people. And so, while I may not know what comes next, what I do know is this: It will be a story that only I can tell, and it, like the elementary school pictures of me with bangs cut straight across my forehead and baby fat on my cheeks, will be a snapshot of a moment forever frozen in time.
As a writer, how do you feel when you look back at old work you’ve created? How has your work changed over time?
Kasey LeBlanc (he / him) is a graduate of Harvard College and of GrubStreet’s Novel Incubator program, where he was an Alice Hoffman Fellow. His debut novel, FLYBOY, will be released by Balzer + Bray (HarperCollins) in May 2024. He has been published by WBUR’s Cognoscenti, Condé Nast’s them, and was a finalist in 2019 for the Boston Public Library’s Writer-in-Residence Position.
[coffee]
Hi Kasey! I find this post fascinating, as the changes you have faced are extraordinary. My two published novels came out in 2014 and 2015–eons ago in the world of publishing—but as it turns out, I couldn’t keep writing in the vein that would have been expected of me. I was working through some things with those novels—ways I had survived my youth and first marriage, which came with their own high stakes—and, well, mission accomplished.
I don’t want to write about those things anymore. I’ve read that to define yourself as a “survivor” continues to tether yourself to the most traumatic circumstances of your life, and these intervening years allowed me the time to snap that tether. I’m writing a very different type of story now, one that I hope will find an audience. But even if it doesn’t, I appreciate the opportunity I’ve afforded myself to memorialize this transition on the page.
I wish you all good things with the release of your debut, and I look forward to reading it.
Thank you Kathryn. I’m glad that you’ve found ways to write new things for yourself these days.
Congratulations, Kasey, on your novel debut!
What a beautiful post you shared today, a post that only you could write.
I’ve also had that experience of reading my older work and seeing not just a younger me between the lines, but also a time and place I can’t physically return to. I feel grateful to younger me for working hard to capture the experience. As you say, it’s like looking through a photo album for the author.
Many, many years ago, I remember walking through an exhibit at The Guggenheim with my mother. I can’t remember the artist, unfortunately. The gallery was full of family photos- not portraits- but the vacation and holidays type – right from the photo albums. Common snapshots, but details of a family’s life. Because they were hung on a gallery wall, we walked slowly from picture to picture, studying the faces, watching the children grow into adults. Near the end, my mother turned to me in wonder. It’s our family, she said. She was beaming with the connection.
Decades later I’m holding onto that memory, writing what only I can write and having faith that my words will find a connection with others.
Thank you Kasey, for your post today.
Thank you for sharing this story Ada!
Thank you for sharing your journey. Your story raised so many questions. I like that you seem comfortable in your own skin and aren’t afraid to speak out. So many don’t have the support of those around them to accept who they are. As writers we need to have the confidence to write the truth of our experiences and our beliefs, Wishing you much success with your writing.
Thank you Diana <3
I have “early work”, and by that I mean published novels. I’m not ashamed of them, I don’t cringe, but I wouldn’t write them now. We move forward, our writing does too. You are right, Kasey, not to move backwards.
As to Book 2 of your contract, ah. The blank canvas is intimidating. But the brush has to touch the canvas for the first time, doesn’t it? That’s all it takes. One sentence. That will lead to another. I write something like that now and I like both the process and the stories better than those I once plotted out. For what that’s worth.
Thanks for a revealing post, I loved reading it.
Thank you Benjamin. I know the story and the words will come — so far they always do! But you’re right, one sentence at a time is what it takes.
Thank you for an insightful post. Like you, my writing now is no longer me trying to write as someone else. In that sense, my writing now is more truthful. Looking back at what came before, there isn’t anger or resentment towards my old writing, but instead more of a curiosity, almost fascination. It wasn’t good, yet I couldn’t write it now if I tried, even if I was pretending again. It’s a page read that once read can never be viewed the same again.
Thank you Christina. “I couldn’t write it now if I tried, even if I was pretending again.” I love that line — really such a fascinating thing to even think about, but I think you’re right. I can remember being the person who wrote the things I once did, but even pretending wouldn’t bring me back enough to write those things again. All for the best though!
Beautifully said, Kasey. “It will be a story that only I can tell…” Your words stir my soul this morning. Thank you.
I’m so glad to hear that Pamela <3 Thank you for your comment.
Good post. Once again I’m reminded that certain things—like outgrowing your early writer self—affect all of us. But the thing that surprises me most, of all the things you’ve done, is that you managed to finish a novel while you were still in school. I can imagine changing my sexual identity, and I can imagine embracing a religion, but in no universe does the student version of me write a novel. Congratulations on your new one. I look forward to it.
Ha! Thank you Michael! Turns out that the loneliness of studying abroad for a semester can be a good incentive to push through a draft.
Kasey, you made me think of my own writing history and progression. Starting off writing poetry in the 70s, getting a copyediting certificate in 2010, co-authoring two books, working on screenplays, writing educational programs. You name it, all related to writing. Then, I got serious and started my own historical fiction book. The debut book, published in 2022 has a sequel in progress. I read reviews and readers wanted to know what happens next? You have a big decision to make on a second book. What to write, and you say not a sequel? Why not? You started your new life journey in 2017, and added Judaism. How has that changed your worldview? How has that changed your emotional inner core? What has it done for you, so your life going forward is the richest it could be? You have a combination of great themes to work on: Love, Death, Survival, Courage. Come up with a stellar, believable goal and start writing. Best of luck. 📚 Christine
Thank you for this comment Christine! I think my debut stands well on it’s own, but I’m excited to figure out something new to write for book two, and you’re right — many great themes I can work with!
Wonderful post, thank you. Your evolution was fascinating. Like you, and many of us, I abandoned Catholicism and all things religion, mine after years of boarding school abuse with nuns. It would never occur to me to pick up religion again, although I consider myself deeply spiritual. Yet, I can relate to your yearning for community and in finding acceptance within the Jewish congregation it’s only natural that you would want to pursue that ultimate commitment.
As for my own writing journey, I look back on my early writing with a fond nostalgia, but it is very clear to me that I wasn’t ready. I’ve had no formal training or education and it’s only through lots of practice (3 trunked novels, 3 published non-fiction, lots of poetry and one completed memoir) that I feel I have achieved some measure of competence. If I could go back in time to that earlier me it would be to say, ” get your education in anything that will give you forward momentum towards your passion. Stop acceding to others’ expectations for once!” It would have saved me years of angst and unhappiness.
Thank you for sharing this Deborah <3 I hope you've reached a place with much less angst and unhappiness!
Thank you for sharing your story! Just this morning, I was thinking that if I don’t hurry up and nail down the end of this book I’ve been revising forever, I won’t be able to finish at all because I’ll have outgrown it! You change. You learn new things. Sometimes it’s the writing that unearths the new you. Best wishes with your debut! Be sure to update us.
Thank you Chris! Such a real fear — changing too much in the course of just one story. Fortunately I always expect my first drafts to end up 99% different than the “final” one!
Kasey, I’m a so impressed and frankly a little jealous of the wisdom and richness of your personal perspective. A life rich in poop makes for rich compost. Yet few fearlessly plant a garden there and share it with the world. Congratulations. Love the writing life captured you with a gunman on a middle-school bus. I look forward to your debut and all that comes next.
Thank you Torrie. “A life rich in poop makes for rich compost.” This line made me laugh in the best way! Very wise!