Suicide and Storytelling: Writing Hope in Dark Places (Guest Post by Rocky Callen)
Content disclaimer: discussion of suicide and suicidal ideation.
If we are writing for young people, especially about suicide, we are not just telling stories. We are shaping how someone might understand their pain or whether they choose to survive it.
I grew up with suicidal thoughts as
a soundtrack in the back of my mind. Sometimes I could lower the volume.
Sometimes I could shut it off. Other times, the words blared out of the
speakers and I’d jam all the buttons hoping for relief, but the soundtrack
played on, taunting. As someone who has lived with and battled depression and
who has lost many loved ones to suicide, I remember seeing media that used
suicide for shock value or glamorized it. It looked almost romantic in how it
was portrayed, poetic in its finality.
I know I have dressed
it up that way in my own mind before, but that’s the problem. That’s the
danger. We should not make suicide look appealing to young people in our
stories.
When we write for adults, we trust
them to manage their consumption in a way that best serves them. We can also
trust young people. However, when we write for them, we need to be mindful
that, unlike adults who have years of proof that they can overcome hard and
devastating moments, teens are sometimes encountering these experiences for the
first time.
We can give them proof.
Proof that hope exists.
Proof that their lives matter.
We have devastating statistics to
recognize while we navigate writing this topic for young adult audiences:
Overall, 20.4% of high school students reported having
seriously considered suicide in the past year (Verlenden et al., 2024).
Overall, 40% of high school students reported persistent
feelings of sadness or hopelessness during the past year (CDC, 2024).
Suicide is the second-leading cause of death for teens and
young adults, ages 10–34 (CDC, 2023).
These statistics show the dire need
for sensitive stories.
I do not believe in censorship or
sugarcoating reality. In fact, teens often shove aside stories when they feel
they are diluted or dishonest. But if we want to write sensitively, what we
should think about is what belongs on the page and how we frame those pages so
they have a positive impact on the collective conversation.
Sensitive storytelling does not…
romanticize suicide.
make it a tool for revenge.
include it for shock
value.
make suicide feel like the inevitable conclusion for trauma
or mental illness.
I will not say that there aren’t good books, entertaining
books, even valuable books that sometimes touch on the above. But I see too
much media dive into the deep end of these things and then wonder why it has
dragged people down with it.
Other Things to Consider When Writing Suicide in YA:
● Avoid detailed (or any) depictions
of method
● Show ripple effects of loss
● Include support systems
● Show complexity beyond the suicidal
moment
If we are writing stories that include suicide and our
intention is to create a narrative that gives people an outlet, an opportunity
to connect, hold their own pain, or understand someone else’s, we want to make
sure that the story is…
Honest. Whether the story is centered on the person struggling or
someone in proximity to the person struggling, the emotional experience should
be honest, informed, and nuanced. Are you the right person to tell this story?
Do you have experience or access to people who have experience who can inform
your storytelling? Share the roots of the pain and the evolution of it.
Necessary. Ask yourself why you are including this in your story. What
is your aim or hope with its inclusion? Is it convenient for the plot?
Something to shock the reader? Does it seem trendy? If any of this is the case,
I’d exit hard left. Rework. Go a different way. If, however, your aim is to
help struggling kids feel less alone, show hope in desolate situations, or
inspire young people to stay and seek help, then you are on track to writing a
story that can help shift the statistics.
Hopeful. Young people need proof that hope exists beyond hardship
and pain. This doesn’t mean the story needs a happy ending or that the
conclusion needs to feel bright and neatly tied up in a bow. A Breath Too
Late does not include a happily ever after, but what it does show is that
there is so much life bursting at the seems worth fighting for. That was the
mission of the Ab(solutely) Normal mental health anthology. Across the
short story genres and themes, the core of it is that hope exists.
Dr. Sonia Patel, child psychiatrist and novelist, once said
on a panel we were on together that often young people feel suicidal not
because they actually want to die, but because they want the pain to stop.
Our stories can be a way to hold that pain and show that
there is hope beyond it.
When I wrote A Breath Too Late, I wrote it for those
who struggled like me. I wrote and held my pain honestly for the first time. I
wrote this story as a way to write myself out of a dark place. I took the very
things that my mind gravitated toward and followed the thread all the way
through until what we saw wasn’t relief or romance, but the jarring, unfixable,
undeniable truth that death would be my own tragedy.
Ellie in A Breath Too Late dies on the very first
page:
Death,
As blackness eats my last sliver of consciousness, I realize
I regret.
You aren’t beautiful, free, or romantic like in all of the novels I have read.
You are a girl who had no hope left, who realized, too late, she wanted to
live. I thought you would save me, Death.
But you are a liar.
Just like everyone else.
I immediately tackled the thought that death would be
poetic, a thought I often held.
The rest of the story retraces her steps as she figures out
what led to her final day. The flashbacks and present-day experiences, as she
observes the life she left behind, not only spell out the timeline and
contributing factors that led to her suicide, but also show her all the moments
she didn’t see.
Often when someone feels suicidal, they have tunnel vision.
They can’t see the good in themselves, in the world, or in their life. The
story, even with all of its pain, lingered on those moments. It showed the
importance of perspective. It showed all that exists around us, even when we
are too tormented to see it.
I needed this reminder as someone who kept thinking tomorrow
was not something promised. A reminder that good exists and tomorrow could be
better.
The last page of A Breath Too Late acknowledges that:
Rocky Callen is a critically acclaimed author, speaker, and writing consultant. She has hosted writing workshops and retreats from Washington, D.C. to Bali and has spoken on regional, national, and international stages on writing and books, mental health, and art and social impact.
She is the author of the YA novel A Breath Too Late, which was named a Kirkus Reviews Best Young Adult Book of the Year, a Chicago Public Library Best Book of the Year, and was featured in The Mujerista's 2020 list of the Ten Best Young Adult Books by Latinx Authors. She was a contributing co-editor for the mental health YA anthology Ab(solutely) Normal: Sixteen Stories that Smash Mental Health Stereotypes (Candlewick). Her latest YA novel, Crashing Into You, received two starred reviews. She recently sold her first two picture books to Simon & Schuster.
She founded HoldOn2Hope, a project that unites creatives in suicide prevention and mental health awareness. She has an MFA from the Vermont School of Fine Arts. Find out more about her at http://www.rockycallen.com.
Barnes Noble:
Paperbook - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-breath-too-late-rocky-callen/1131993208?ean=9798994951200
Ebook - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-breath-too-late-rocky-callen/1131993208?ean=9798994951217
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