Okay, this is one remarkable woman. Deborah Jiang-Stein was born in prison, a fact kept secret from her for many years. Shaped by fear of her own story, desperate and furious, she blazed through her life, finally coming to terms with who she was--and who she could be. It's an astonishing book and I'm honored to host Deborah here. (And P.S. She's one hell of a roller-skater. Because of her, I now have a roller derby name, Attila the Honey. Need I say more?) Thank you so much, Deborah.
What sparked the writing of this book?
First, thank
you Caroline for asking me on your blog. In the beginning, I wrote this
material as a novel. A protagonist born in prison, on a dangerous and
adventurous journey in search of her true self. The usual of three plots,
with some crime and drugs added.
My then-agent
found interest from two top tier editors who both engaged with me about how to
better develop the manuscript. When I mentioned the story was based on my life,
they suggested I write memoir, but I just wasn't interested. I felt cautious
and anyway, I’d already backed away from a few screenwriters and producers who approached
me around the same time. At the time, none of it felt right so I put the story
of my life in a box.
I wasn't ready
to make my story public, either, and also didn't even know the full story then.
Still don’t. But in the beginning I knew just a few facts but not all. That was
ten years ago.
I'd already published
short stories in small literary magazines and fiction called me more than
memoir so I worked on a manuscript of linked short stories I wanted to finish. (About
to finish it now. ) I was also raising two young children then. Fast forward
ten years, when I finally committed to memoir, it took all this time for me to
pull a more universal meaning out of my story. All these years to know it's not
really a prison or adoption story, but a wider tale about the ravages of
secrecy, stigma, and shame.
From the
beginning to publication, it’s been a long road of persistence: 56 publisher
rejections and three hard workings agents. I did everything backwards, and
even the road to publication. My gratitude swells for my editor Gayatri Patnaik
at Beacon Press for picking up my book. This happened without an agent, a rare
chance these days. I hope everyone persists in whatever they want.
So much of this amazing book is about
identity: how we form our sense of our selves and how other people help form
it, as well. It took incredible courage for you to change. Can you talk a bit
about that?
The change
happened out of necessity. I'm gutsy in my drive for survival, not always
courageous in other areas. I'm driven by curiosity. Those together guided me
around the corner towards transformation. I was on a path where I would've either
killed someone else or myself. I was physically unhealthy, mentally imbalanced,
and all around unwell. Dis-ease in every sense. I knew I needed help, knew I
needed to invent myself anew. Something also sparked inside—I wondered if
I had a greater purpose in life than the destruction I was causing as I moved
from state to state.
In some ways I
felt like a civilian non-CIA version of Jason Bourne in the Bourne Trilogy
movies, only a female spin off and not as violent. His wildness and desperation,
unable to outrun himself, and on the hunt for his memory and his true identity,
this was my life as I grappled with the losses and trauma, stigma and mystery
of my prison birth.
Nothing is
stagnant in my life, not even my identity. Adoption is all about invention and
reinvention, and in fact I think if we're lucky, any major loss drives us to
invent ourselves. I am not just the woman born in prison. I am many things. In
many ways I believe I'm still defining myself. Maybe we all are until our very
end.
You felt a terrible stigma about being a
prison baby, yet you longed for your birth mother. How were you able to deal
with these two opposing needs?
Still, I
haven't. I yearn for what I lost, the mother I lost, and yet I wouldn't be who
I am today if we'd stayed together. I've resolved that sometimes we're
presented with impossible choices and unbearable circumstances.
Women in
prison, and men, are looked upon as second-class. So the stigma remains, I just
don’t take it on.
Can you talk about why it took you two
decades to tell your parents that you knew about your prison birth? What were
you afraid might happen if you told? Or was it simply that you had shut down,
that you didn’t want to talk about it.
Before I could
tell anyone else and talk about my prison birth, especially speak to my parents
about it, I needed to not feel so afraid of my own story. It scared me, who I
was and where I came from. Not prison so much as the differentness, and even
now that can still bug me sometimes but there's nothing I can do to change it. Now,
though, I've stopped feeling scared of myself.
How therapeutic or traumatizing was the
writing? What surprised you as you wrote, and how did you change during the
writing?
What a
wonderful question. The therapeutic influence happened for me before I could
write the story, not during. I had to speak it first, just say the fact,
"I was born in prison" and not feel like I would pass out from terror
every time I said it. Because when I admitted it, I also had to say how much
trauma and loss it caused, and how much pain I caused others as I battled through
to accept myself, my family, and the truth of my story. I had to heal before I
could write the story.
The process of
writing was traumatic because it forced me to re-live some of the trauma, as
well as recalling the illegal activities of my former life. Writing this book
immersed me into real-time pain, not just the recollection of it.
I know from FB, what an extraordinary
mother you are to your daughter, who is a magnificent young woman now in
college. Given your background, did you have fears about being a parent. And
did you consciously decide how you were going to raise her?
I've raised my
children by instinct. Most of all I’ve wanted them aware of the basic values of
self-honesty, kindness, and respect, and to live with eagerness, curiosity, and
an open heart. I figure if day to day they live these, most everything else
falls into place.
I don't envy my
children with a mother from my background. Can you imagine?! A mother born in
prison and a mother who almost ended up in prison—I've made sure they wouldn't
wander into the darkness the way I did.
You also work with women in prison. Can
you talk about what that’s like?
My work with
women in prison is my passion, my duty, one of my loves. Ten years ago I was conducting writing and
creativity workshops in a few women’s prisons, and after a while a warden
suggested I speak to the total population.
Prison gyms
fill with hundreds of folding chairs and I’m there with nothing but a hand-held mic and my story and a carrying a
universe of hope I want to hand each of them face to face. I wasn’t born as a
speaker but for sure I was born for this work in prisons.
While I
haven’t been incarcerated, other than my infant year inside, I use story as a
tool for social change. Each of the women I meet can do the same, use their
story to mentor others. Most are in for nonviolent drug related charges, just
like my prison mother.
What's obsessing you now? One thing: I'm obsessed about reaching
all the prisons that have invited me for a One Read book club for Prison Baby. After the inmates read,
they’ve asked me to present a workshop and speaking engagement.
Actually I am
obsessed 28 times. I’ll reach 30,000 incarcerated women in total! My vision is
to find ways to fund this work so I can reach each of these prisons within the
next 18 months.
What question didn't I ask that I should
have?
What about
roller-skating? You didn't ask me about roller-skating! You and I have
discussed skating before, which I love. The freedom, the flying on wheels even
though I like to skate slow, I love it all.
I've been
invited to guest skate in a few derby bouts and hope this happens. Prison Baby
on wheels.
All this to
say that my story and book carry a weight of seriousness and one way I've
survived and metabolized the pain is to live with some humor, play, and have fun.
I’m not frivolous here. For some reason, as adults, true play stops. But I see
it as a necessity, and the best nudge I know for creativity and transformation.
Plenty of
research shows how the brain’s functions better with play, and that play also
fosters learning and teaches perseverance and replenishes emotional wounds—key
tools for overcoming hardship. This is
how I’ve survived. I believe in balance, on skates and in life.
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ReplyDeleteVery powerful interview. Thank you. Can't wait to read the book.
ReplyDeleteReading book right now.Good luck and great working with Women in prison.
ReplyDelete