What does psychology have to do with fiction?Author Jacqueline Sheehan Imparts a Psychologist’s Perspective |
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A strong background in psychology is one of the best preparations for the vital skills of writing fiction. What motivates a character to dispose of her husband’s ashes in a bizarre manner? What motivates someone to become diabolically obsessed with a dog? Why would an intelligent and athletic teenaged girl decide that food must be earned by acts of deprivation and sacrifice? These questions would not have been impossible to answer for authors bathed primarily in the literary world, but they are simply far easier for a psychologist. This is our daily oxygen; we figure out why people do the things that they do. I have been a psychologist since 1989, and in my new novel, I make full use of my clinical background to give depth and texture to a book about the complexities of grief. Even though the main character Rocky is a psychologist, she is shattered to the core when her young husband dies suddenly, and she is stunned at her inability to regain her footing. All of her psychological knowledge seems to betray her when she tries to apply the clichéd approaches to dealing with grief. The stages of grief sound hollow to the person stumbling through them. Technically, our heroine fits all the criteria for a major depressive episode, and yet sorting this out from a course of grief is a daunting task and not even considered by the main character, Rocky. She is wonderfully flawed, making her more accessible than a therapist who seems to have it all together. Other therapists have made their stamp in the world of fiction. Jonathan Kellerman, best selling mystery writer, draws heavily on his background as a child psychologist to guide us into the most unsavory places; frequently offering us the motivations of people who deliberately harm children. For better or for worse, Kellerman has a deep understanding of this from his first career. Amy Bloom, award winning novelist and short story writer, was first a psychotherapist. Her short story, Silver Water, is one of the most brilliant portrayals of schizophrenia that I have ever read. I was floored when I first read that story in 1994 and no less so when I read it again recently. Bloom’s understanding of a major thought disorder gave a crystalline purity to the tortured, funny, brilliant, and tragic character who suffered from it. And of course, Bloom just happens to be one of finest writers. Good combination. In Lost and Found, characters developed over time that presented me with their psychological struggles, much as patients do when they first appear at the door of a therapist. Melissa showed up with tight skin and her hair pulled tightly back, wearing bagging sweats. Eating disorder, provisional diagnosis, I thought with my therapist mind. An older woman with wild white hair appeared first in a bookstore on the island and I felt instinctively that there was something unusual about her, not pathological, just very different. At the same time, I was learning about synesthesia, a neurological condition where multiple senses fire at one time, often in a surprising way. Numbers have colors, sounds have smells. Immediately I knew this was perfect for Tess, our sage, who would have heightened and unusual senses. Other characters stepped into view and they appeared with obsessions or chemical imbalances. And lastly, a dog appeared in the book, who turned out to be a better therapist than anyone. I am convinced that therapy works for some of the people some of the time. While that is not a ringing endorsement of psychotherapy, it is true. I am far more convinced that animals offer us something more potent than talk therapy because I have seen examples of it often in the lives of my patients. The dog in my novel is a huge presence for both Rocky and the young girl and the dog offers a form of redemption that was not found in the human relationships. Pet-facilitated therapy. I once worked with a college student who was suicidal. She was dangerously depressed. In desperation, I remembered that she had a puppy at home, a beautiful brindle boxer. I asked her, “If you kill yourself, who will take care of your dog?” When she realized that no one would take care of the dog, she vowed to stay alive and get better. I know this sounds ridiculously simplistic, but I have seen the bond between human and animal to be a powerfully sustaining force. Another patient who I worked with for several years struggled with a family where alcoholism, betrayal, physical abuse, and neglect were the hallmarks. After every visit with her family, she would appear in my office devastated from more disastrous interactions. Finally she convinced her mother to allow her to get a dog, a very tiny dog. From the moment that the six-pound dog trotted into the house, everything changed in her family. Everyone had someone to love, to be affectionate with, to protect, and be protected by. The family didn’t become perfect, but by having the dog to love, they were all able to practice how to love. I maintain a private practice and deliberately keep my patients out of my books. Their confidentiality is sacrosanct. But the understanding of human motivation, trauma, resiliency, and recovery has been essential to my writing. |
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The Process of Writing Truth |
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Q. What inspired you to write Truth? |