A year and a half ago I responded to an online call looking for people whose lives had been impacted by dogs, to be interviewed for a book titled “Every Dog Has A Gift.” Those of you, who know me, know that in a lot of ways dogs have defined my life especially my young adulthood. As you can imagine, I was pleased when I heard back from the woman who I was led to believe was the author (turns out she was just a “book associate”). After exchanging a few emails we arranged a time for her to interview me by phone.
The interview itself was pretty non descript. She asked me for background information about when my life first became intertwined with dogs. I didn’t even think much of it when she began focusing her questions on my experience of being kicked out and loosing ‘my boys.’ After all, losing the dogs and the dog community was as defining as my queerness during that time. I didn’t hear much from her after that, and didn’t really expect to. The book was being released from a major publisher, they didn’t have a release date and after all I was just a small interview informing her work that might be quoted somewhere along the way.
About a year ago I was asked for a photo and was sent a contract to sign giving them permission to use my name, photo and story within the book, all normal stuff.
There did however come a time when I began getting nervous. After sending my contract my contact with the book (who I still believed was the author) mentioned in an email that my story was one of her favorites and one of the most powerful in the book. It was then that I requested to see a copy of what had been written about me. My request was denied.
Last weekend in my mailbox was a manila envelope with two copies of ‘Every Dog Has A Gift’ (my payment for participating). Immediately I looked at the index, found my name, flipped some pages and was horrified by what I found.
I was met with a title, my name, and a large photograph of myself and my dog Mercury (the largest photo in the book I might add). I was confused, the way it was laid out made it look like I’d written what was to come on the further pages, I must be paranoid, all I’d done was a simple interview. I turned the page to find a “first person” account of my “story.”
Now you might be asking yourself “first person? I thought you said she just interviewed you? How does that get turned into you wrote something????”
Good question.
Reading “my” story was very interesting. I learned that I had been “banned” from my family. I also learned that I’d lived on the streets and only after college was my life stable enough to welcome a dog into my home. In reality I survived by couch surfing with friends, and had adopted my dog Mercury before I even got into college because my life was incomplete without canine companionship and creating enough stability to have a dog was really the only thing I cared about.
I’m so furious about this issue that it has taken me days to even know how to talk about it publically. I’m angry because as an author I have a voice and style and this poorly written “story” that they fabricated is an embarrassment. But my anger goes beyond professional self-consciousness. This is personally insulting.
When we let other people tell our stories, especially when those stories include accounts of homelessness, with few exceptions words will be put into our mouths, the names of those we love will be altered (they chose to make some of the names of my dogs anonymous but not others), our stories will be sensationalized, and we will be put into situations where we have to talk about lies masquerading as truth.
I’m in the process of looking over what I signed in that contract and speaking with an attorney but given that this book is out in the world with my name and photo on a section I feel the need to come forward now and explain the actual story behind my involvement and to publically denounce the book. In my workshops I always talk about how it’s important that as queer people we tell our own stories, that we be careful of those we let speak for us, and I have *again* learned that lesson the hard way.
How fucked up, is there anything others can do to help you?