The book project has been an ongoing part of life since Nancy’s death in 1997.
It has been through several titles and more concepts.
For now, we’ve settled on . . .
Not because I’m Dying: Essays on a life.
It's Nancy Woodhull's story and the story of the Woodhull-Watson family. "How we learned to navigate as a family through the changing, and sometimes intersecting, realms of feminism, corporate media and even cancer," is one way of looking at it. Or another approach: "There are lots of stories about powerful women. This one is different because it's told from the perspective of the kitchen table, the back yard and the front seat of family car." The title comes from the most compelling reason for us to write this book: Nancy wouldn't contemplate writing about her life while she was battling cancer. It was like admitting defeat. "I'll write about it in remission," she'd say, and then make sure I ran interference for anybody raising the issue. The easiest way to do that was tell them not to worry about a book. Nancy was focused on getting well.
“And if the worst happens, and it has to be written: Well, we’ll do it.”
Easier said…
The trouble is this is like no story we've ever had to tell before and until this point we've always had Nancy as our confidant and editor.
We're good at writing when we have a lot of fact’s spread out in front of us. They seem to assemble themselves into a story. This time there are mostly feelings, many fewer facts. It’s vignettes, mostly which float through our minds, but are tough to capture. It’s tougher yet, to tell with the certainty, if this all really reflects the truth.
That’s why we're thinking of the book as a collection of essays.
“A trial or test of the value or nature of things…short literary compositions usually presenting the authors viewpoint.” The book will weave together the our individual voices, our collective voice as father and daughter, and the voices of Nancy Woodhull’s friends.
If essays are a trial or test of value, we're being tested.
We only hope we can pass.
From the Working Manuscript....
Forward Notes:
People think of Nancy Woodhull as a success. She was.
They think of her as a pioneer, paving the way for women in journalism and women in business. She was.
They rarely see Nancy the way a few close friends, her husband and her daughter sometimes saw her: Angry and frustrated and sad.
She got angry because she was so often the token woman in a male world. Frustrated that she was so often held to a standard that really didn't apply to the men around her. Frustrated too, when men did not see that women could bring valuable skills and a different outlook to the table, if only women were allowed to be themselves and not just cookie cutter copies of the men around them -- women as women, not simply males with ovaries instead of testicles.
When she was sad, it was because she didn’t understand why it had to work that way. Sad too, that she let it get to her, losing opportunities to make progress because of her anger or frustration.
Most people didn't get to see Nancy that way because Nancy never let them see it. Not because she didn't believe in the truth. To her, truth and reality were what mattered most. The truth was, and she knew it, that her frustration and anger wouldn't change things.
Her success would make all the difference in the world.
So Nancy focused on getting the job done. Bringing in results. Taking risks. Doing journalistic jobs others turned down as unfulfilling or mundane. And she made them sparkle.
Success was her statement, her manifesto for the revolution and her concession to the frustrations and anger she felt. Tucking it away and focusing on attainable goals was one of her daily acts on behalf of other women: "Do something to help another woman everyday," was the motto she is most often remembered by.
It's one way of helping Nancy continue her everyday practice of reaching back to help some other woman along. We think it is a part of what she had in mind in the last sentence she spoke before slipping into her final coma:
"Keep the office going," she commanded. "Keep going with the work.”
If we get it right, the book will speak to women and men around the world, who feel on the edge of failure, anger and frustration. It says: "You're not alone. We've been there too. Here are some thoughts to help you cope. But remember: You win, and all women win."
And the world changes for the better, if only just a little...
One Essay:
5:26 a.m.
The time is seared into my memory, as if the red glow of the digital numerals on the clock at the end of my bed were a hot branding iron marking me forever.
Dad is leaning over me. Waking me gently, but urgently, "Tennie .... It's time for you to come upstairs, to be with mom."
I know just what that means, and it isn't easy to hurry and follow dad as he leaves the room. As I climb the stairs I listen for the sound of the liquid oxygen, the constant background hissing that has become part of life for all of us as Nancy Woodhull battles lung cancer. When I don't hear it, I know exactly what it means. My mother has taken her last breath."
I have no idea why I found it so compelling a task, to turn the oxygen off so quickly, even before my daughter climbed the stairs.
Nancy Jane Woodhull, my wife for twenty years, Tennie's mother for sixteen, had taken her last breath while I went to wake Tennie. It was as if she knew we were out of the room and she could slip away. I checked her pulse, waited for any sign of breath, and then I guess it was the futility of the oxygen flowing to a lifeless body and the finality of the moment that drove my decision.
In any event, there was no way to hide the reality of what had happened when my daughter reached Nancy's bedside. There was nothing to do then but kneel on opposite sides of the bed, hold hands across Nancy's body and cry together.
Bill and Tennessee Jane Watson entwined with Nancy Jane Woodhull. It was the natural thing to do, and as symbolic of our lives as any gesture we might have spent weeks planning.
#######
Many people would think of that day, April 1, 1997 as the end of the story. We choose to make it the beginning. It starts here because this is a story not of loss, but discovery -- what we had, what we gained, how we grew, what we had to do to make it happen and finally what was lost.
It all begins at that moment....
“And if the worst happens, and it has to be written: Well, we’ll do it.”
Easier said…
The trouble is this is like no story we've ever had to tell before and until this point we've always had Nancy as our confidant and editor.
We're good at writing when we have a lot of fact’s spread out in front of us. They seem to assemble themselves into a story. This time there are mostly feelings, many fewer facts. It’s vignettes, mostly which float through our minds, but are tough to capture. It’s tougher yet, to tell with the certainty, if this all really reflects the truth.
That’s why we're thinking of the book as a collection of essays.
“A trial or test of the value or nature of things…short literary compositions usually presenting the authors viewpoint.” The book will weave together the our individual voices, our collective voice as father and daughter, and the voices of Nancy Woodhull’s friends.
If essays are a trial or test of value, we're being tested.
We only hope we can pass.
From the Working Manuscript....
Forward Notes:
People think of Nancy Woodhull as a success. She was.
They think of her as a pioneer, paving the way for women in journalism and women in business. She was.
They rarely see Nancy the way a few close friends, her husband and her daughter sometimes saw her: Angry and frustrated and sad.
She got angry because she was so often the token woman in a male world. Frustrated that she was so often held to a standard that really didn't apply to the men around her. Frustrated too, when men did not see that women could bring valuable skills and a different outlook to the table, if only women were allowed to be themselves and not just cookie cutter copies of the men around them -- women as women, not simply males with ovaries instead of testicles.
When she was sad, it was because she didn’t understand why it had to work that way. Sad too, that she let it get to her, losing opportunities to make progress because of her anger or frustration.
Most people didn't get to see Nancy that way because Nancy never let them see it. Not because she didn't believe in the truth. To her, truth and reality were what mattered most. The truth was, and she knew it, that her frustration and anger wouldn't change things.
Her success would make all the difference in the world.
So Nancy focused on getting the job done. Bringing in results. Taking risks. Doing journalistic jobs others turned down as unfulfilling or mundane. And she made them sparkle.
Success was her statement, her manifesto for the revolution and her concession to the frustrations and anger she felt. Tucking it away and focusing on attainable goals was one of her daily acts on behalf of other women: "Do something to help another woman everyday," was the motto she is most often remembered by.
It's one way of helping Nancy continue her everyday practice of reaching back to help some other woman along. We think it is a part of what she had in mind in the last sentence she spoke before slipping into her final coma:
"Keep the office going," she commanded. "Keep going with the work.”
If we get it right, the book will speak to women and men around the world, who feel on the edge of failure, anger and frustration. It says: "You're not alone. We've been there too. Here are some thoughts to help you cope. But remember: You win, and all women win."
And the world changes for the better, if only just a little...
One Essay:
5:26 a.m.
The time is seared into my memory, as if the red glow of the digital numerals on the clock at the end of my bed were a hot branding iron marking me forever.
Dad is leaning over me. Waking me gently, but urgently, "Tennie .... It's time for you to come upstairs, to be with mom."
I know just what that means, and it isn't easy to hurry and follow dad as he leaves the room. As I climb the stairs I listen for the sound of the liquid oxygen, the constant background hissing that has become part of life for all of us as Nancy Woodhull battles lung cancer. When I don't hear it, I know exactly what it means. My mother has taken her last breath."
I have no idea why I found it so compelling a task, to turn the oxygen off so quickly, even before my daughter climbed the stairs.
Nancy Jane Woodhull, my wife for twenty years, Tennie's mother for sixteen, had taken her last breath while I went to wake Tennie. It was as if she knew we were out of the room and she could slip away. I checked her pulse, waited for any sign of breath, and then I guess it was the futility of the oxygen flowing to a lifeless body and the finality of the moment that drove my decision.
In any event, there was no way to hide the reality of what had happened when my daughter reached Nancy's bedside. There was nothing to do then but kneel on opposite sides of the bed, hold hands across Nancy's body and cry together.
Bill and Tennessee Jane Watson entwined with Nancy Jane Woodhull. It was the natural thing to do, and as symbolic of our lives as any gesture we might have spent weeks planning.
#######
Many people would think of that day, April 1, 1997 as the end of the story. We choose to make it the beginning. It starts here because this is a story not of loss, but discovery -- what we had, what we gained, how we grew, what we had to do to make it happen and finally what was lost.
It all begins at that moment....