Terry Wilson has done stand up comedy and theatre in Los Angeles, and she’s performed autobiographical monologues in New Mexico, most recently, her one-woman show, “Confessions of a Failed Saint.” Her pieces have been published in local publications like The Santa Fe Reporter and Santa Fe Literary Review, and nationally in Silverleaf Humor Anthology and Artemis Literary Journal. She taught creative writing to women in New Mexico jails as an Artist in Residence through the New Mexico Arts Division and has taught creative writing at SFCC for many years. Her new book, published in 2012, is also called Confessions of a Failed Saint.---------
Terry Wilson delivers an unforgettable collection in Confessions of a Failed Saint. She attempts to balance out the alchemy of how to survive it all as a sinner and a saint. Her stories are hysterical, tragic and true to humanity no matter what religion, neighborhood or family one grew up in. Wilson moves us through those hellish parental obligations that hover over us like recurring nightmares with such compassion and humor. This is one gem of a collection. Not to be missed! Here is the link to get a copy:
Terry Wilson interview with Meg Tuite
Confessions of a Failed Saint is a hilarious and tragic collection of tales tapping into what it was like growing up as a Catholic and all of the pressure that was placed on the narrator. Tell me more about her and what she dealt with.
In my family, I always felt like I could never be “enough.” Not only was it impossible to get Jesus to lighten up and go to a barbecue, but it was futile to try and get my father to stop drinking, and it was a fool’s errand to make my Mom happy. I went to church when my parents told me to, and I mostly obeyed the nuns and priests, but who was going to help me do the impossible? Not those stone saints at Holy Family Church who never even noticed when I ambled in or knelt for hours on those rock-hard kneelers. Occasionally, though, I could make my father chuckle—most of the time he had to be the center of attention, but sometimes we had to entertain him, to stand in front of the refrigerator (the “stage” in our house) and do impersonations of his favorite stars: Jimmy Durante, James Cagney, John F. Kennedy. I imitated those three poorly, but my worst was when I did Alfred Hitchcock, one of my own heroes. When I lifted my face towards the ceiling and said “Goot efening,” I resembled a fish. This made my father laugh, my greatest achievement.
“Becoming a Nun, Leper, or Saint” is the first story in this collection. So many great lines in this. I’ll just quote a few:
“These trips to the convent were not convincing, but it was hard growing up Catholic– you could never get Jesus off the cross, for one thing.”
“In fourth grade I wrote in the three page autobiography we were assigned in class that I wanted to become a nun, but it was mostly because I wanted an A in the class. I wasn’t sure about the convent because I knew I’d have trouble with the obedience part, so my next idea was, I’d become a leper.”
The choices were somewhat limiting as a Catholic. What was your experience with this?
I needed a fast ride into heaven. That was really the only choice—what hoops did I have to jump through on earth so I could be with God and those angels forever? Mostly I just wanted my parents to like me. But I also had dreams of becoming a movie star, a tightrope walker, or a doctor in Africa, healing all those amputee babies my Mom constantly showed me. Maybe I could be a nun first, and then later a tightrope walker who cured children in Africa. The possibilities in my mind were endless, but every day I saw my Mom’s sad mouth and I had to make it smile.
Tell us where you grew up and what the neighborhood was like that you lived in.
I grew up on Allegany St. in Buffalo where the houses were close together and all muted colors. Almost everyone had a yard, and if the snow came and then melted, our yard could be a skating rink all winter. Being outside was the best, climbing that crabapple tree or lying in the grass, but there were also old people on our street and when they died, I had to go to their wakes and kneel in front of their caskets, even if I didn’t know them. Sometimes it rained like crazy in August, the raindrops hitting the sidewalk so hard, they looked like diamonds. Our street got flooded from leaves clogging the gutters, and my friends and I put on old t-shirts and shorts and swam down the street in that dirty water. But it was the sort of street that when I made my First Communion, I went door to door showing each neighbor my dress and collecting money. I made $33.
Was your mother a devout Catholic? What about the extended family?
My mother held the world together with her whispered prayers. Her mother had a white bun and always looked toward heaven; my father tried hard to make her giggle. Everyone in our family was holy, but mostly the women. My aunt had eleven children because God smiled on you if you created a lot of Catholics. Especially if one of them became a nun or priest; that was the goal. My Mom only had six kids, so her sister won the competition, especially because her oldest son joined the clergy. My other aunt was a nun; she joined the Mercy Nuns when she was fifteen years old and she died at 86. She was a nun for 71 years.
Tell us about working with women in the New Mexico Jails. What an incredible experience that must have been.
I first went to the jail because I was looking for a job; I only had been given one class at Santa Fe Community College that semester. The guard who interviewed me took me around and I talked to the women who were incarcerated, and one told me she wanted to write a story about a vampire. Her hair hung oily and straggly, her skin was blotchy, and her orange prison outfit was rumpled and ill-fitting. But when she talked about writing a story, her whole face lit up. I knew then that I wanted to teach those women how to get their stories out. I didn’t land the job I’d gone there for, because the guard asked me if I knew how to “take someone down” and I didn’t. I was just a writing teacher. But then I went back and volunteered every week so I could hear the truth and lies about being a woman in prison. As I wrote in my essay, “Why Can’t They Let us be Beautiful?” I learned so much about being human from my seven years at the Santa Fe County Jail.
I love that you were doing stand-up. Most of us don’t have the guts to get up there on stage and work the improv. How does that translate into your writing?
It’s tricky when you’ve done stand up because you find yourself moving toward the punch line, and writing is more complicated than that. I realized doing stand up that I didn’t ultimately want to perform jokes in front of a bunch of drinkers who weren’t listening. I had already done that in my family! I wanted to develop a story, not just go for the laugh line. Stories could be sad or poignant and I needed to be honest, not just entertain. But the most crucial thing I learned from doing stand up (including stand up in my family) is that whenever I felt stuck in my writing, I imagined an audience listening, and then I could write again.
Who were your inspirations as a writer?
I get inspired by different types of writers: recently I felt blocked, so I listened to Maria Bamford, a very fine stand up comedienne, and she helped me break through my barriers. When I was growing up, the comedy was aural; my father and brothers were comic experts, so I learned what was funny by listening. Nora Ephron is someone I always loved—especially hearing her read her own work. Jonathan Winters’ faces and characters always cracked me up. I love Ann Tyler because she’s so skillful with detail and creating characters. Anne Lamott is an excellent role model, too, for memoir. Annie Dillard awes me with her descriptions of writers, and Barbara Kingsolver is an amazing teller of tales. Mary Oliver’s images transport me from whatever mood I’m in. I also love some recent memoirs like Rhoda Janzen’s book, “Mennonite in a Little Black Dress,” Mary Karr’s “Liars’ Club,” and Jeanette Walls,’ “The Glass Castle.” Terry Tempest Williams writes so gorgeously about the outdoors, and Annie Proulx…I’ve read “The Shipping News” three times—love that dark humor!
What are you reading at this time?
Right now I’m reading Colum McCann’s new book, “Transatlantic.” I’m Irish and the Irish are incredible storytellers! I can hear McCann’s Irish brogue telling the tale.
Do you feel that teaching enhances or inhibits your writing?
Probably a little of both—I get inspired sometimes by the stories my students tell and what they’ve been through. I always write with them in my creative writing classes, and sharing our lives makes us closer. But teaching also takes a lot of energy, so sometimes after spending time with twenty or forty students, my creative juices are depleted and I only have the strength to do my laundry.
What projects are you working on at this time?
I have not decided if my next project is going to be another one-woman show called “New Aging” or if that will be my next book. I have written many pieces about getting older, many of them funny, though aging is not always comical! Also featured in the book (or show) will be bizarre stories of healers I’ve encountered in Santa Fe; most off their rockers.
Give us one quote that speaks to you and of you.
Just one? OK, how about “Late Fragment” from Raymond Carver:
“And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.”
Beautiful! Thank you so much, Terry, for sharing your exceptional work and your experiences with Connotation Press.
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