The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire #27: Gina DeMillo Wagner
"I’m constantly meeting deeper parts of myself. The more I write (and read), the more compassion I have for myself and the human condition."
Since 2010, in various publications, I’ve interviewed authors—mostly memoirists—about aspects of writing and publishing. Initially I did this for my own edification, as someone who was struggling to find the courage and support to write and publish my memoir. I’m still curious about other authors’ experiences, and I know many of you are, too. So, inspired by the popularity of The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire, I’ve launched The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire.
Here’s the twenty-seventh installment, featuring , author of Forces of Nature: A Memoir of Family, Loss, and Finding Home. -Sari Botton
Gina DeMillo Wagner is an award-winning journalist and author of Forces of Nature: A Memoir of Family, Loss, and Finding Home. Her writing has been featured in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Memoir Magazine, Modern Loss, Self, Outside, Writer’s Digest, and other publications. She is a winner of the CRAFT Creative Nonfiction Award, the recipient of a 2024 Yaddo fellowship, and her memoir was longlisted for the SFWP Literary Prize. Gina writes a column for Psychology Today on the forces that shape our lives and a popular Substack where she shares exclusive essays and behind-the-scenes content. She lives and works near Boulder, CO.
—
How old are you, and for how long have you been writing?
48. I’ve been writing and editing professionally for about 20 years, but I published my first piece of writing (a prize-winning essay on how to build a model rocket) in 5th grade.
What’s the title of your latest book, and when was it published?
Forces of Nature came out on May 14th.
What number book is this for you?
This is my first.
How do you categorize your book—as a memoir, memoir-in-essays, essay collection, creative nonfiction, graphic memoir, autofiction—and why?
It’s a memoir with two narrative arcs: one present-day thread that covers the aftermath of my brother’s sudden death at age 43; and another that traces our childhood so that readers can see the family foundation and the nuances of growing up alongside a sibling with disabilities. The present-day arc introduces questions that can only be answered by the childhood arc, so they are in constant conversation with one another. As the book progresses, the timelines draw closer together until they finally merge in the last chapters.
What is the “elevator pitch” for your book?
My brother Alan had a rare genetic condition that caused him to veer from loving to violent. When he died suddenly, I was pulled away from the safety of my adult life and thrust back into a family I had been estranged from for nearly ten years. Forces of Nature follows this rewinding of the past, my caregiving journey and reckoning with complicated grief, plus Alan’s Christmas-themed funeral, and my investigation into his cause of death. It’s a personal story that asks universal questions: How much of our selves should we sacrifice to those we love? Can nature nurture us when people can’t? And what forces shape our sense of family and home?
Forces of Nature is a memoir with two narrative arcs: one present-day thread that covers the aftermath of my brother’s sudden death at age 43; and another that traces our childhood so that readers can see the family foundation and the nuances of growing up alongside a sibling with disabilities. The present-day arc introduces questions that can only be answered by the childhood arc, so they are in constant conversation with one another.
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?
I went to college to be a wildlife biologist. My plan was to work outdoors saving endangered species. But I also minored in creative writing, because I’d always written as an emotional outlet and wanted to legitimize that somehow. My senior year, I wrote a wildlife paper that ended up being published in a prominent, peer-reviewed scientific journal. I started receiving mail addressed to “Dr. DeMillo” and requests to write more.
I wondered if there was a way to combine my passions for writing and the outdoors, so I went back to school for a master’s in journalism. From there, I worked as a staff editor and writer for national outdoors and travel magazines. Everything the magazines published was in service to the reader. We dug deep, researched, investigated, but also entertained and inspired people. Later, as I branched out to personal essay and memoir writing, I carried that skillset with me. I could interrogate myself, but also center the reader’s experience and create resonance.
The book came to be after I published a New York Times essay called “Mourning the Loss of a Sibling Rival.” It struck a nerve and tapped into a large audience that is underserved: Siblings and families who are hungry for authentic, honest, nuanced depictions of living (and dying) with disabilities in their myriad forms, both visible and invisible. Very little has been written from the perspective of siblings to people with developmental disabilities or chronic medical conditions. And yet, one in five families has at least one child with a disability, according to the National Institutes of Health.
I wanted to write about the challenge of loving people with intense needs without eclipsing your own. I wanted there to be a book about the stuff no one talks about, but all of us know deep down: that adversity isn’t delivered to us as a blessing or a curse; it can be both. Joy and pain are two sides of the same coin. You can’t experience one without fully accepting the other. I wrote this memoir as an offering to readers who need that validation – and as a gift to the younger version of myself who craved honest stories about complicated families, disability, and grief.
What were the hardest aspects of writing this book and getting it published?
Aside from the deep emotional work that needs to happen if you’re going to write a memoir, there were some logistical challenges that made this one tough. I conducted several uncomfortable interviews and tracked down public records, medical files, and thirty-year-old documents from my childhood. I was metabolizing all this information and drafting the memoir while also working full-time and parenting two young kids. I would wade deep into the past, then suddenly have to snap back to the present and lead a meeting or cheer my kid on in volleyball. Then, when the manuscript and proposal were finally ready for my agent to start submitting to publishers, it was March 2020. We sent it out and pulled it back several times, trying to find the right opening for a “quiet, literary memoir” amid the Covid chaos and social injustice happening in the world. I was almost ready to give up when we received two offers, a few days apart, in the fall of 2022.
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 think one of your tasks as a memoir author is to erect guardrails and define where your story ends and another person’s begins. It’s an intuitive process and different for everyone. But for me, there was a visceral sense whenever I crept too far into another perspective. That nagging discomfort helped me stay in my lane. As an added layer of privacy, I changed most people’s names and some identifying details. I had honest conversations with people who appeared in the book and compared my recollections to theirs, but I didn’t show them pages. The only people who had access to the manuscript in advance and full veto power were my husband and kids.
The book came to be after I published a New York Times essay called “Mourning the Loss of a Sibling Rival.” It struck a nerve and tapped into a large audience that is underserved: Siblings and families who are hungry for authentic, honest, nuanced depictions of living (and dying) with disabilities in their myriad forms, both visible and invisible. Very little has been written from the perspective of siblings to people with developmental disabilities or chronic medical conditions.
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.)
The greatest inspiration I’ve drawn is from the authors I know and mentors who have been generous (and vulnerable and honest) enough to reveal their habits and struggles and demystify the book-writing process. Alexander Chee, Claire Bidwell Smith, Nora McInerny, Melissa Febos, Katherine Sleadd, Annette McGivney, and Buzzy Jackson come to mind (but there are many more). I’m also inspired by other writers and artists I meet in workshops or through residencies – and students in workshops I teach.
What advice would you give to aspiring writers looking to publish a book like yours, who are maybe afraid, or intimidated by the process?
Sometimes it feels like we’re all tunneling toward our creative dreams with a teaspoon. It takes so much courage and persistence to keep going. Whenever you imagine the worst outcomes, you should pause and imagine the best outcomes too. Give them equal weight in your mind.
What do you love about writing?
On a blank page, anything is possible.
What frustrates you about writing?
I worry that creative writing has become inextricably woven with hustle culture and consumerism. It’s telling that one of the questions I heard the most during my book launch was, what’s next? It’s something we ask the moment someone publishes something meaningful. I’m just as guilty of this as anyone. When I read a piece of writing I love, I want the author to produce more. I want to consume them. I imagine breaking off a tiny piece of their genius and swallowing it like a smoldering coal that will sit in my belly, stoking a creative fire.
I think the frustration is that this never-enoughness sets an impossible standard and distances us from the art. I want my work to be seen and consumed. But I also want to hold onto the joy of writing, creating for creation’s sake. I think we’d feel closer to art if we were allowed more time to sit with it and savor it before turning our attention to whatever comes next.
What about writing surprises you?
I’m constantly meeting deeper parts of myself. The more I write (and read), the more compassion I have for myself and the human condition.
Does your writing practice involve any kind of routine, or writing at specific times?
I wrote Forces of Nature while I was working full-time at a high-stress corporate job. A writing routine felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. I was just grabbing every fifteen-minute block of time I could. I kept a legal pad by my desk to jot down ideas. I wrote during lunch breaks. I stood outside the office in the smoking area and used voice-to-text in the Notes app on my phone. I wrote on the sidelines of my kid’s soccer practice and in the waiting rooms of doctors’ offices. Eventually, I used some PTO and checked myself into a cabin with no TV or Wi-Fi and wrote for days on end.
Now I work from home and have a lot more flexibility in my schedule, but I’ve held onto that ability to write during small windows between other commitments. I can sink quickly into my creative work. My favorite thing to do is wake up early, make coffee, and write in the notebook that I keep by my bed. Later, I’ll type it up on my computer, and the act of transcription serves as a first revision.
Like so many writers, my practice has to fit into the margins of life – higher paying work, caregiving, self-care. I long for spacious days where I can focus on a project for hours without interruption. That does occasionally happen. But if I waited for those openings to appear, I’d never write anything.
I wrote Forces of Nature while I was working full-time at a high-stress corporate job. A writing routine felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. I was just grabbing every fifteen-minute block of time I could. I kept a legal pad by my desk to jot down ideas. I wrote during lunch breaks. I stood outside the office in the smoking area and used voice-to-text in the Notes app on my phone. I wrote on the sidelines of my kid’s soccer practice and in the waiting rooms of doctors’ offices. Eventually, I used some PTO and checked myself into a cabin with no TV or Wi-Fi and wrote for days on end.
Do you engage in any other creative pursuits, professionally or for fun? Are there non-writing activities you consider to be “writing” or supportive of your process?
I play the guitar badly and can throw a lopsided bowl on a pottery wheel. But mostly I use movement and nature to support my writing process. Things like swimming laps, hiking, and paddleboarding help calm my nervous system and dislodge stories that are stuck in my body. I’m incredibly fortunate to live in Colorado where I have easy access to public land. My time outside mutes the anxieties and fears that would otherwise block creativity.
What’s next for you? Do you have another book planned, or in the works?
At the moment, I’m enjoying writing a series of essays like this one and this one, exploring all the ways nature can teach us deeper truths about ourselves and the human condition.
The idea of creative writing getting mixed up with hustle culture really resonated! I am going to share this with my writer friends, thank you. I too find much needed relief in nature and time outside, and I look forward to reading your memoir:)
"I think one of your tasks as a memoir author is to erect guardrails and define where your story ends and another person’s begins."
I love this image and this guidance. I'm working on this myself. My attacker is in custody in the state's maximum-security forensic center -- what we used to call a hospital for the criminally insane. To tell my story I have to tell hers, and amid the criminal case. It's a task fraught with questions about safety, privacy, ethics, and tinged by my own anger and sadness.