The inspiration for Swollen Appetite 

Since 1996, I have been telling a 15-minute version of this memoir in a setting with others like me who seek support for alcohol use disorder. We tend to have attention and anxiety issues as well, and once upon a time, in the 1940s, when this support group came into existence, those 15 minutes were called a pitch. Uniquely qualified, we break down our personal stories into bite-sized pieces: what it was like when we were using, what happened, and what it’s like now that we’re sober.  

I needed more time. I needed to pull the corners of my page across a parking lot and cover it with story after story. To not have to convince anyone of anything other than reading the next page. The brave woman I was in the 1990s needed more attention than I could give her. She took a lot of chances and risked her life to get me to where I am now: alive and creative. Swollen Appetite is my amends to her - a woman out of her depth and mind - but damn, wasn’t she something?

Disclaimers 

I changed the names of some folks but not others. For those with whom I had serious relationships or anyone I thought might want their identity protected, I gave a pseudonym. It’s tricky talking about the past. There’s no factual way to describe a perspective or a memory. I rendered from old journals written by a drunk and emotionally distraught narrator, my first 4th Step, a mountain of out-of-focus photographs, and a few precious letters. There are actual recordings of poems I wrote in the ‘90s from old cassette tapes that I transferred to digital and loaded onto my website, even though they make me cringe. I owed the reader/listener the real deal. There are no videos, no transcripts, no documented proof that I felt like what I said I felt like. Or that you said what I said you said. There’s just me telling the reader what I know about myself way back when. I hope it makes you think about yourself when you were on the cusp of becoming whoever you became.

Many people who were a part of my life, sometimes a big part of my life, did not make it into this book. It wasn’t because I didn’t remember them, or they weren’t important. I chose whom to include based on keeping the story moving. Several folks don’t look too good in this telling, especially me. Whatever category you fall into, know that I love you or, at the very least, want to thank you for being in my life. The light that flared when you set your souls on fire lit my way home. 

 Thank you –   

San Francisco for dazzling me. 

The readers: Beth Lisick, Jack Boulware, Chuck Prophet, Francie and John Raeside, Laura Cavaluzzo and Pete Craft, Wendy Newman, Rebecca Coseboom, Shermann Min, as well as a bevy of awesome broads who took in the first 50 pages back in the wee days of COVID: Sally Mudd, Wendy Brazill, Jill Olson, Beth McKenna, Julie Kramer, Cori Crooks, and Deborah Crooks. Your encouragement and pointers kept me honest.

Melanie Berdofe and Jim Kelly, your generosity, friendship, and the decency you showed by paying your employees not to work in the early months of the COVID-19 lockdown provided me not only with groceries and rent but also with a blessed writing retreat!  

Lindsey Westbrook, my beloved copy editor. I’m sorry that I continually changed the manuscript post-edit. Thank you for your time, patience, and talent. I’d be sunk without you.

Marissa Hereso, for all the walks and talks that gladdened my heart. Thanks for sharing your Figma Moodboard with me! 

Laura Cavaluzzo, for all the impromptu copy edits of blurbs and such. You make writing look easy. 

Jessica Gruner, for your eagerness to read and willingness to proof. 

Sally and Mina Mudd and Gary McCormick for the quiet room to record Chapters 3 and 5. 

Margaret Belton and Dave Cuetter, for the pro tips for recording and polishing the audio tracks. 

Laura Clemons, for being my writer-sister and my sister-sister. I need you as a sounding board.  

Kathryn Kruse, for editing the first draft. You noticed the lack of shame that ‘90s Sandra demonstrated in those early pages, and since the goal was to stay in that time, without the meddling of hindsight, wouldn’t she have felt more shame for her behavior? (What a testament to recovery that I forgot shame in the early drafts!) I will always be grateful for our work together on WHAT YOU CARRY. 

Adena Gilbert, you’re a friggin’ saint for listening to the fears that plagued me while writing. Your humor, tenderness, and guidance have kept me sane and able to look not only myself but others in the eyes. 

Brian Mello, everything’s better because of you - the cover art, help with the audiobook, and the clever marketing pieces. You’re good company. Hearing you rehearse music in the other room fills my heart and reminds me how lucky I am to get to walk through this world with you.