Melissa Payne is the bestselling author of The Secrets of Lost Stones. Her latest novel, Memories in the Drift is already a #1 Amazon Kindle best seller in friendship fiction and debuts in paperback format on December 1, 2020.
We chat to Melissa about her new release, inspiration, her writing process, and more! Plus we are giving you a peek at her book with an excerpt at the end of the Q&A!
Tell us about yourself?
I’m a mom of three teens and while that’s not my only defining characteristic, at this point in my life, it does seem to determine the trajectory of my days. I love it though. There’s something about a messy house with unwashed dishes in the sink and pet hair in the corners and hormonal zig-zags, both teenage and maternal, that feels like I am at the very epicenter of my life. So I try to hang on and remember that as quickly as we’ve arrived at this point is also how quickly we will exit it into a more quiet and controlled existence. And I can’t lie, that makes me a little sad. Plus, there is something about a noisy, busy home that energizes my writing, ignites my creativity and allows me to escape inside a story.
What was your biggest inspiration while writing your book?
A few years ago, I came across a documentary about the town of Whittier, Alaska. It’s a stunning place carved from the shores of Prince William Sound, where nearly all of the two hundred or so year-round residents live in a fourteen-story high-rise that overlooks a harbor abounding with wildlife. As a writer, I was immediately drawn to this town, not because of the unrelenting rain and snow and heavy clouds that cling to the mountains for much of the year. And not because of the two-and-a-half-mile single lane tunnel that closes every night and is the only way in and out of town, unless you come by boat. Or the image of all of this set against a backdrop of glaciers and waterfalls and craggy mountain peaks.
It was the people who live in Whittier that sparked a deep interest in me. The folks who call this slice of wild beauty home. I was particularly struck by a comment from one of the town’s residents: “We don’t always love each other, we don’t always get along, but when something awful happens, everyone is going to be there to help you.”
And that’s how I began to develop a character like Claire. Anterograde amnesia is a heartbreaking condition where a person is unable to create new memories. It affects daily life, work and social activities, not to mention relationships with family and friends. To cope, people suffering from this type of amnesia must rely on familiar routines, supportive networks, and strategies that help to structure their days. Whittier was the perfect home for Claire, whose character grew up there, and so it was a familiar and safe place for her to continue to live somewhat independently while managing her condition. Claire is resilient and brave and determined to make the most out of her every day. And just like the residents from the real Whittier, everyone in Claire’s world pulls together to help one of their own.
Which part of your book was most challenging to write about?
My main character, Claire, has anterograde amnesia. I wanted to make sure that I wrote her in a way that correctly and compassionately illustrates the realities of this type of memory loss. The point of her character wasn’t to manipulate or exploit her memory loss for the story’s sake, but rather to examine and experience along with her how she might manage her condition and still have moments of joy, connectedness and love. Writing Claire authentically was a huge challenge because I wanted to stay as true to her experience as I could. So I had to constantly evaluate a scene to make sure that Claire stayed within her limited scope of memory. It was difficult to keep her genuine when I wanted so badly for her to remember, and at times heartbreaking and frustrating when I knew it simply wasn’t possible for her. It made me think about anyone who deals with memory loss and how difficult and challenging it must be for both the person experiencing memory loss and their loved ones.
What message do you hope readers will take from reading your book?
Claire’s situation will never change, but she does have the love and support of her family, friends and her larger community, and I think there is such beauty in how people come together for each other. We see that now with the wildfires in my state and how people reach out to help complete strangers. And we’ve seen it over the past year, where communities rally around those who have been physically and economically affected by a global pandemic.
I initially wrote about Whittier because of how unique it seemed at the time, but after this last year and with the very real way we’ve had to cut ourselves off socially from one another, it feels like many of us have experienced our own sense of remoteness and alienation from people, routine and everything familiar. My hope is that this story shows how even in seemingly insurmountable circumstances there can be light and hope and that when things get hard, we can pull ourselves together and be there for each other, even if “we don’t always love each other or get along.”
Is there a character whose personality most matches yours? If so, which character and why?
I love this question and it’s hard to answer for this book because the characters, while all from my imagination, are very distinct and very much their own personalities that evolved throughout the writing and as the story demanded. But if I had to choose one I’d say ten-year-old Maree, because sometimes I still feel like a little girl who talks too loud and says the wrong things.
Does your book deal with a current trending or controversial issue, and if so, why did you choose to write about that issue?
Not specifically, but I do think that it deals with assumptions about people and places, which I think is something we have done and continue to do in our fractured world. Often all it takes is learning someone’s story to make that first step toward understanding people different from ourselves. But apart from fiction, we don’t always take the time to do that and instead we generalize and make assumptions based on stereotypes and opinions.
What is your writing process?
My writing process has been an evolution of time and experience. When I started writing my very first book, my process was to sit down and get as many words onto the page as I could each day until I reached The End. That helped me to complete a book, but it led to many, many rounds of edits and revisions. As I waded deeper and deeper into being a writer, I have learned to tighten my process by taking the time to plot and plan. I know, snore. It was way more fun to allow the story to flow out of me and worry about major plot and character arcs later. But with each book I write, I learn something about myself as a writer, and gain a bit more insight and perspective into how I can make the process of developing a story more efficient and effective for me. Ask me again in five more books – by then my process may have developed into plotting while balancing on my head and eating popcorn.
EXCERPT from Memories in the Drift
A loose photo on my desk catches my eye when I walk past on my way to—I stop, rub the back of my neck, momentarily at a loss for what I was doing. I turn in a half circle, hands stretched out in front of me, trying to shake the present like I’m panning for gold. Hoping that the answer to what I was doing will rise golden flecked and shiny above the silt. But nothing. My bladder feels empty, so I wasn’t going to the bathroom. A fullness in my stomach means I must have eaten recently. Still, nothing comes to mind, and when my eyes spot the photo again, I pick it up, grateful for something to occupy my thoughts.
I smile. The picture is of me and Dad after I received my graduate degree in elementary education. School was always a safe place for me, and as I grew older it became an easy leap for me to see myself as a teacher. Teachers didn’t disappear for days inside their bedrooms or have to leave Whittier to drive a truck for weeks on end. Teachers, at least in Whittier, were around and available for students even when the school was locked up and dark. Plus, teaching came naturally to me, and I loved being around kids, especially the ones who were too loud or troublemakers or angry at the world. I could relate. I look at the picture again. Poor Dad. I put him through so much. Once, I pulled the fire alarm, just for fun, and forced the entire building outside in the middle of a night when the snow flew sideways. I skipped school with Tate more times than I can count, and we shook the vending machine so hard hoping snacks would fall out that we broke it. I can come up with a list of stupid things I did when I was a teenager. I think at one point the homeowners’ board wanted to kick us out because of me. But Dad and Ruth were always there, and my antics didn’t go unpunished, at least the ones I got caught for.
So it was easy picking my major and later deciding to get my master’s in education. Because without all the adults sticking with me, believing in me, and punishing me, too, I might have followed a very different path. Once I was focused, school came easily to me, due much in part to my love of lists and notes and calendars of all kinds. I look again at the picture, remember the proud tautness of Dad’s shoulders, so convinced that I would take my education and travel the world. He wanted me far away from Whittier, refusing to ever see how much this town had saved me. I did have friends who left to teach in international schools all over the world, and I could have gone that route, I suppose, but there was a big part of me that yearned to give something back to the kids in Whittier.
I shake my head, blink rapidly. That was all a long time ago, I tell myself.
In some ways I can feel the years that have passed since this photo was taken in the texture of the skin across my arms, the looseness around my eyes, because time itself has changed me even if I don’t recall its passing. In other ways, it shocks me to face the truth. The present is liquid, flowing from moment to moment, and I am a raft, drifting with the current, not always connected to the minutes or hours, days and weeks attached to the passing of time, until I stare at a photo like this and am forced to acknowledge how much I have missed.
