The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire #39: Jennifer Case

"I’ve always been one who writes into difficulty, so I did that, allowing each essay to approach a question I had about motherhood from a different angle."

Sari Botton

Sep 20, 2024

Here’s the thirty-ninth installment, featuring Jennifer Case, author of We Are Animals: On the Nature and Politics of Motherhood. -Sari Botton

Jennifer Case is the author of We Are Animals: On the Nature and Politics of Motherhood (Trinity University Press, 2024) and Sawbill: A Search for Place (University of New Mexico Press, 2018). Her essays have appeared in journals such as The Rumpus, Orion, Ecotone, Literary Mama, and North American Review, among others. She teaches at the University of Central Arkansas and serves as an assistant nonfiction editor at Terrain.org. You can find her at www.jenniferlcase.com.

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How old are you, and for how long have you been writing?

I’m 38. I remember writing poems and stories as a child, but I made the conscious decision to become a writer in 8^th grade, after my English teacher shared an excerpt from his writing journal with my class. Inspired, I started keeping a journal of my own, specifically to develop my writing skills.

What’s the title of your latest book, and when was it published?

We Are Animals: On the Nature and Politics of Motherhood. It officially launched Sept. 17, 2024 from Trinity University Press.

What number book is this for you?

This is my second book. My first book, Sawbill, is a place-based memoir and came out from the University of New Mexico Press in 2018.

How do you categorize your book—as a memoir, memoir-in-essays, essay collection, creative nonfiction, graphic memoir, autofiction—and why?

We Are Animals is an essay collection. I wrote each of the sixteen pieces to stand alone (with the exception of one essay, which relies on the others). The category was a necessity more than a formal choice. I wrote the book when my children were young—when I was breastfeeding and waking up at all hours of the night—and I honestly only had the headspace for shorter forms. I couldn’t at that moment hold a longer narrative in my head. That said, the collection does tell a larger story from beginning to end.

What is the “elevator pitch” for your book?

We Are Animals explores motherhood, feminism, evolutionary biology, reproductive justice, unintended pregnancies, and maternal mental health. The book explores what it means to be female—and have an animal body—in today’s society, and it works to unpack the complexities of “choice” and “control” when it comes to reproduction.

We Are Animals explores motherhood, feminism, evolutionary biology, reproductive justice, unintended pregnancies, and maternal mental health. The book explores what it means to be female—and have an animal body—in today’s society, and it works to unpack the complexities of “choice” and “control” when it comes to reproduction.

What’s the back story of this book including your origin story as a writer? How did you become a writer, and how did this book come to be?

My background is in environmental and place-based writing, but when I had my first child, I began to write about motherhood. Childbirth put me in touch with my animal self in a way I hadn’t before, and I wrote to understand that shift. At first I wrote just a few essays, but when I became pregnant with my second child—an unintended pregnancy during the 2016 election—the political, social, and biological complexity of motherhood overwhelmed me. I’ve always been one who writes into difficulty, so I did that, allowing each essay to approach a question I had about motherhood from a different angle. Soon it became clear that I was writing a book.

What were the hardest aspects of writing this book and getting it published?

The book explores maternal mental health and openly acknowledges a number of dark moments I experienced when pregnant with my son. Balancing the need for honesty—and the need to write openly about difficult experiences of motherhood, especially unintended pregnancies—while also wanting to protect my son, was a challenge.

Finding a publisher was also hard. Partly due to the fact that it’s an essay collection, coming from someone without a huge platform. Partly because of the assumptions people make about “motherhood books”: that only mothers will read them, and that a press only has room for one (as if all books about motherhood are the same), etc... That said, I couldn’t be happier with Trinity University Press. In many ways, it feels quite fitting to have the book coming out of a press that understands reproductive justice in the South.

How did you handle writing about real people in your life? Did you use real or changed names and identifying details? Did you run passages or the whole book by people who appear in the narrative? Did you make changes they requested?

I experimented with a number of different essay forms in the book, so my approach varied based on the essay. In more journalistic pieces with formal interviews, I used names, but in personal and lyric essays, I largely obfuscated identities—calling characters “my friend” or “my obgyn.”

I find ethics fascinating and considered the ethics of writing about others carefully, but I didn’t often share drafts with family or friends. The exception was if an essay might negatively impact a relationship. For instance, one essay included a pretty personal anecdote about a friend, so I made sure she was okay with that. (If she wasn’t comfortable with it, I would have taken that anecdote out.) I also showed my husband the essays where he featured heavily. Some of the pieces reveal vulnerable and fraught moments in our marriage, and I wanted to give him a chance to respond. He asked me to change one line of dialogue, which I did. Otherwise, he agreed that I captured the scenes accurately.

The book explores maternal mental health and openly acknowledges a number of dark moments I experienced when pregnant with my son. Balancing the need for honesty—and the need to write openly about difficult experiences of motherhood, especially unintended pregnancies—while also wanting to protect my son, was a challenge.

Who is another writer you took inspiration from in producing this book? Was it a specific book, or their whole body of work? (Can be more than one writer or book.)

One of my absolute favorite essay collections is Eula Biss’s Notes from No Man’s Land. I see We Are Animals doing something similar, only with motherhood rather than race. I also got inspiration from Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings and Lacy M. Johnson’s The Reckonings.

What advice would you give to aspiring writers looking to publish a book like yours, who are maybe afraid, or intimidated by the process?

So much of this field requires faith in yourself and faith in the work. When it comes to writing, I’d say be brave and ambitious. Trust in the process, and write the essays you want to write. As for publication, I’d say be diligent and determined. It can be so hard to find a publisher for essay collections, but they do exist. The people I know who’ve succeeded as writers are largely those who never gave up.

What do you love about writing?

I love the process, from that moment when you have the inkling of an idea, and it begins to pulse with potential, to the first draft, when you discover new things about yourself and the subject, to the revision process, as the piece really starts to take shape and become what you thought it could be. Then there’s publication, when you can appreciate the piece for its artistry and for what it has become—for the work you put into it and the ways it accomplishes something greater than yourself. For me, the joy really comes from that transformation. Writing helps me understand life, come to new insights, and ground myself in reality. It’s a way to connect with others, with myself, and with the world.

What frustrates you about writing?

There are certainly moments, early in the revision process especially, when the clunky-ness of my writing disappoints me, and I despair over how far the draft is from my vision. Despite my love of writing, the process doesn’t always (often?) come easy, and that can be frustrating. But what frustrates me most is the competitiveness of publishing. I see writing as inherently connective: a writer trying to connect with readers, readers connecting through the writing, all of us connecting with the world, etc. Certain books have saved me in moments of aloneness; they have been a great balm, and I try to offer that to others through my own work. Yet many parts of the publishing industry feel competitive and commercial rather than connective. Finding ways to navigate that can be exhausting.

What about writing surprises you?

How much I always learn! I am always surprised by the insights I gain through the writing process (whether about myself or the world). The same goes with reading others’ work. Each essay I read, whether by a published writer or a student, gives me a window into humanity, and I am forever grateful for that.

Does your writing practice involve any kind of routine or writing at specific times?

It used to. When I was in graduate school, I would wake up every morning, have a cup of coffee, and begin to write before I even turned on my computer or checked my email. It was a meditative routine. After I had children, alas, that practice ended. Mornings were no longer my own. My son is now seven, but I swear he has special antennas. Even if I wake up super early, certain I’ll have an hour or two to myself, he somehow hears me and comes out of his room, wanting me to make French toast or snuggle. But I still write best in the mornings, so I try to protect at least a few hours of writing time twice a week after the kids have gone to school. Usually, that’s enough for me to maintain momentum.

I see writing as inherently connective: a writer trying to connect with readers, readers connecting through the writing, all of us connecting with the world, etc. Certain books have saved me in moments of aloneness; they have been a great balm, and I try to offer that to others through my own work. Yet many parts of the publishing industry feel competitive and commercial rather than connective. Finding ways to navigate that can be exhausting.

Do you engage in any other creative pursuits, professionally or for fun? Are there non-writing activities do you consider to be “writing” or supportive of your process?

I was a studio art minor in college and am beginning to reengage the visual arts in my practices. Thanks to a friend, I’ve been making collage postcards out of scraps from trade magazines. Collage postcards are quicker to put together than an essay, so they keep that creative impulse alive and nurtured even when I don't have a lot of time (during the pandemic, for instance, when my children were home with me all day). Often, the visual art I make and the writing projects I am working on speak to each other, so it is fun to see that conversation taking place across mediums. Otherwise, I find it important to nurture embodied practices that balance the cognitive work I do as a writer. I’ve had a yoga practice for many, many years, and I like to hike and garden. I make a point to get outside.

What’s next for you? Do you have another book planned, or in the works?

Actually, I’ve been working on a lyrical book about care work—connecting environmental care, healthcare, mental healthcare, eldercare, childcare, etc… It’s a project I love, and one that has brought me a lot of joy. It is also a project that I let myself write exactly as I wanted to (playfully, experimentally, and even incorporating collage postcards!). After I’m done promoting We Are Animals, I will return to that.