Turning This Thing Around
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Summary:
Turning This Thing Around is an inspiring memoir of overcoming personal struggles. This brutally honest, deeply personal account of redemption takes readers on a moving spiritual journey. Confronted with caring for a manic depressive fiancée in addition to several of his own obstacles, the author was outwardly happy, but inwardly miserable. Pushed to the lowest point of his life, Maginn shares how he gradually turned things around and used his experiences to grow as a person.
Supplemented by heartfelt poetry by the author and with quotes from Gandhi to Dr. Wayne Dyer to Eckhart Tolle, Turning This Thing Around has universal themes that speak to nearly everyone, as we
all must face challenges as part of being human. Turning This Thing Around is a story of a normal young man’s resiliency when battling extraordinary circumstances.
Turning This Thing Around is an inspiring memoir of overcoming personal struggles. This brutally honest, deeply personal account of redemption takes readers on a moving spiritual journey. Confronted with caring for a manic depressive fiancée in addition to several of his own obstacles, the author was outwardly happy, but inwardly miserable. Pushed to the lowest point of his life, Maginn shares how he gradually turned things around and used his experiences to grow as a person.
Supplemented by heartfelt poetry by the author and with quotes from Gandhi to Dr. Wayne Dyer to Eckhart Tolle, Turning This Thing Around has universal themes that speak to nearly everyone, as we
all must face challenges as part of being human. Turning This Thing Around is a story of a normal young man’s resiliency when battling extraordinary circumstances.
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An Interview with Keith Maginn, Author of Turning This Thing Around
How or why did you decide to become a writer?
It may sound corny, but I don’t feel like I chose to become a writer. I feel like I was always supposed
to be a writer. Not that I think I am a great writer by any means, but I do believe writing is my purpose.
Do you write under a pen name? If ‘yes’, what is your pen name?
No pen name.
What is the working title of your book?
Turning This Thing Around
Who or What inspired you to write this book?
I have been writing most of my life, as far back as I can remember. But it was never focused writing, just here and there. However, a few years ago I found myself sitting outside of a psych ward in Atlanta, Georgia. My fiancée was struggling terribly with bipolar depression. I had done everything I could, but was powerless to help her. I was also fighting my own battle with chronic pain and anxiety. I had no idea what I could do to turn things around. No matter how hard I fought, how much I prayed, things seemed to get worse and worse.
I soon found myself slipping into depression, though I remained outwardly happy. Few of my family, friends or co-workers had any idea how desperate my predicament had become. My fiancée was adamant that no one know what she was going through, but I knew I couldn’t keep everything bottled up inside. I was perilously close to a complete nervous breakdown. Not wanting to betray her trust and talk to anyone, I started writing. It was my therapy, the only way to get some of the anger, sadness and confusion out of me.
When I started writing what eventually became Turning This Thing Around, I had no plans of ever publishing it. I was writing for my own sanity. But what started as a very personal diary evolved into something that I wanted to share with others. I realized that others might benefit from my story. I felt people could relate to at least some of what I went through: heartbreak, depression, chronic pain, frustration…If I could overcome what I had, then others could, too. I decided to take a chance and self-published my writing as a “self-help memoir” (changing my fiancée’s name to protect her privacy).
I had no idea how people would react to my book. Would they think I was feeling sorry for myself and looking for pity? I had my doubts, but I am very glad I decided to go ahead with the project. The response was wonderful. I have gotten many replies from people that relate and share their own stories with me. I am happy that people can learn from what I went through and that we can connect on an emotional level. I now know that people are often going through more than they show, making empathy, kindness and understanding all the more important.
Do you have other published works?
Yes, I released my second book, Goodwill Tour: Paying It Forward in January 2013. Two summers ago, my friend Emily and I set off from Cincinnati, Ohio, on a 3,000-mile road-trip through several
southeastern states. We stopped in Memphis (Tennessee), New Orleans (Louisiana), Savannah (Georgia), Charleston (South Carolina), Asheville (North Carolina) and smaller towns in between. Goodwill Tour: Paying It Forward is a travelogue detailing a philanthropic experiment in the incredible country the two of us call home.
What makes our trip unique is that sightseeing wasn’t our sole purpose. Emily and I were determined to spread kindness as we worked to make a difference in the lives of others along the way. We gave our own money to hand-picked strangers, who then had to pay the money forward to someone else.
Goodwill Tour is the narrative of the places Emily and I visited and the people we met on our journey. From Beale Street to Bourbon Street and Graceland to the Biltmore Estate, from feeding the needy in downtown Charleston to brainstorming ideas with a female Buddhist monk to help abused teens and high school dropouts in North Carolina, readers will enjoy riding shotgun on the trip as they relive the experience of these life-altering events, and contemplate how people changed as a result. This book satisfies two longings at once: to have a fun, interesting journey and to motivate readers to have an
impact on the people around them. Many have driven around the country for adventure; countless others serve their community. We set out to accomplish both at once.
What genre does your book fall under?
Nonfiction. I call Turning This Thing Around a “self-help memoir” because I not only tell my story, but I also try to help others who might be struggling in their lives.
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Wow, great question! Hmm...I would choose Colin Farrell to play me–though he is far better looking
than me and has a cool Irish accent!–and Charlize Theron to play my fiancée.
What is the one or two-sentence synopsis of your book?
Turning This Thing Around is an inspiring memoir of overcoming personal struggles. This brutally honest, deeply personal account of redemption takes readers on a moving spiritual journey.
Is your book self-published, or published and/or represented by an agency?
I self-published my memoir. I would like to partner with a publisher at some point, if it is a good fit for
both of us.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Once I decided to make my journal/diary notes into a memoir, the process happened pretty quickly. I believe it took maybe two weeks of writing a few hours a day to get the first draft done. Granted, I did a lot of work to the manuscript on subsequent drafts and after getting feedback from some friends that acted as test readers, but the main backbone was done in that time.
What other books or authors would you compare this story to within your genre?
I think Turning This Thing Around stands apart because it is part memoir and part self-help.
What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
I think that my story is more relatable to readers than other memoirs out there. I wasn’t raised in an eccentric family (Jeannette Walls in The Glass Castle, memoirs by Augusten Burroughs), nor did I travel to Italy, India and Indonesia, as Elizabeth Gilbert did in Eat, Pray, Love. Rather, Turning This
Thing Around is about a normal young man’s resiliency when battling extraordinary circumstances.
Are there any writing-related websites that you have found useful?
I haven’t loked into any writing-related websites. On one hand, I want to use my own voice and style; on the other hand, I try to read a lot of good books that might unconsciously seep into my writing just a little bit.
Where can we find your work? (Ex: Website links, blog links, publishers links)
You can find out more on my website http://keithmaginn.com and on Amazon.com at http://amzn.to/16MDlqV. Thank you!
How or why did you decide to become a writer?
It may sound corny, but I don’t feel like I chose to become a writer. I feel like I was always supposed
to be a writer. Not that I think I am a great writer by any means, but I do believe writing is my purpose.
Do you write under a pen name? If ‘yes’, what is your pen name?
No pen name.
What is the working title of your book?
Turning This Thing Around
Who or What inspired you to write this book?
I have been writing most of my life, as far back as I can remember. But it was never focused writing, just here and there. However, a few years ago I found myself sitting outside of a psych ward in Atlanta, Georgia. My fiancée was struggling terribly with bipolar depression. I had done everything I could, but was powerless to help her. I was also fighting my own battle with chronic pain and anxiety. I had no idea what I could do to turn things around. No matter how hard I fought, how much I prayed, things seemed to get worse and worse.
I soon found myself slipping into depression, though I remained outwardly happy. Few of my family, friends or co-workers had any idea how desperate my predicament had become. My fiancée was adamant that no one know what she was going through, but I knew I couldn’t keep everything bottled up inside. I was perilously close to a complete nervous breakdown. Not wanting to betray her trust and talk to anyone, I started writing. It was my therapy, the only way to get some of the anger, sadness and confusion out of me.
When I started writing what eventually became Turning This Thing Around, I had no plans of ever publishing it. I was writing for my own sanity. But what started as a very personal diary evolved into something that I wanted to share with others. I realized that others might benefit from my story. I felt people could relate to at least some of what I went through: heartbreak, depression, chronic pain, frustration…If I could overcome what I had, then others could, too. I decided to take a chance and self-published my writing as a “self-help memoir” (changing my fiancée’s name to protect her privacy).
I had no idea how people would react to my book. Would they think I was feeling sorry for myself and looking for pity? I had my doubts, but I am very glad I decided to go ahead with the project. The response was wonderful. I have gotten many replies from people that relate and share their own stories with me. I am happy that people can learn from what I went through and that we can connect on an emotional level. I now know that people are often going through more than they show, making empathy, kindness and understanding all the more important.
Do you have other published works?
Yes, I released my second book, Goodwill Tour: Paying It Forward in January 2013. Two summers ago, my friend Emily and I set off from Cincinnati, Ohio, on a 3,000-mile road-trip through several
southeastern states. We stopped in Memphis (Tennessee), New Orleans (Louisiana), Savannah (Georgia), Charleston (South Carolina), Asheville (North Carolina) and smaller towns in between. Goodwill Tour: Paying It Forward is a travelogue detailing a philanthropic experiment in the incredible country the two of us call home.
What makes our trip unique is that sightseeing wasn’t our sole purpose. Emily and I were determined to spread kindness as we worked to make a difference in the lives of others along the way. We gave our own money to hand-picked strangers, who then had to pay the money forward to someone else.
Goodwill Tour is the narrative of the places Emily and I visited and the people we met on our journey. From Beale Street to Bourbon Street and Graceland to the Biltmore Estate, from feeding the needy in downtown Charleston to brainstorming ideas with a female Buddhist monk to help abused teens and high school dropouts in North Carolina, readers will enjoy riding shotgun on the trip as they relive the experience of these life-altering events, and contemplate how people changed as a result. This book satisfies two longings at once: to have a fun, interesting journey and to motivate readers to have an
impact on the people around them. Many have driven around the country for adventure; countless others serve their community. We set out to accomplish both at once.
What genre does your book fall under?
Nonfiction. I call Turning This Thing Around a “self-help memoir” because I not only tell my story, but I also try to help others who might be struggling in their lives.
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Wow, great question! Hmm...I would choose Colin Farrell to play me–though he is far better looking
than me and has a cool Irish accent!–and Charlize Theron to play my fiancée.
What is the one or two-sentence synopsis of your book?
Turning This Thing Around is an inspiring memoir of overcoming personal struggles. This brutally honest, deeply personal account of redemption takes readers on a moving spiritual journey.
Is your book self-published, or published and/or represented by an agency?
I self-published my memoir. I would like to partner with a publisher at some point, if it is a good fit for
both of us.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Once I decided to make my journal/diary notes into a memoir, the process happened pretty quickly. I believe it took maybe two weeks of writing a few hours a day to get the first draft done. Granted, I did a lot of work to the manuscript on subsequent drafts and after getting feedback from some friends that acted as test readers, but the main backbone was done in that time.
What other books or authors would you compare this story to within your genre?
I think Turning This Thing Around stands apart because it is part memoir and part self-help.
What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
I think that my story is more relatable to readers than other memoirs out there. I wasn’t raised in an eccentric family (Jeannette Walls in The Glass Castle, memoirs by Augusten Burroughs), nor did I travel to Italy, India and Indonesia, as Elizabeth Gilbert did in Eat, Pray, Love. Rather, Turning This
Thing Around is about a normal young man’s resiliency when battling extraordinary circumstances.
Are there any writing-related websites that you have found useful?
I haven’t loked into any writing-related websites. On one hand, I want to use my own voice and style; on the other hand, I try to read a lot of good books that might unconsciously seep into my writing just a little bit.
Where can we find your work? (Ex: Website links, blog links, publishers links)
You can find out more on my website http://keithmaginn.com and on Amazon.com at http://amzn.to/16MDlqV. Thank you!
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An Excerpt from Turning This Thing Around
Hell
What the hell did we do to deserve this? That question has popped into my head a few dozen times in the past several months. I’m in a shit-hole motel somewhere in Atlanta, but it might as well be a five-star hotel compared to my fiancée’s situation: Mary is in a psych ward being treated for severe bipolar/manic depression. I just got off the phone with her. She was hysterical, begging me to sneak her Coca-Cola and muscle-relaxers.
I have no idea what to do or how much longer I can take this. Tears are streaming down my face and I am asking God, once again, for help. My life has fallen apart and I see no daylight ahead.
Mary is still furious with me about check-in night at the “rehabilitation center,” as they delicately call it. She is enraged at me because I refused to give her muscle-relaxers despite strict orders to the contrary. Weaning her off the plethora of medications she was on was the whole idea of bringing her here: sixteen prescribed meds daily and another ten to be used “as needed.” Up to twenty-six different medications a day for one person (and she weighed less than 120 lbs.)!
And they were not helping; quite the opposite, actually.
I stood firm on that first night, refusing to “help her pain” by disobeying facility commands. Mary cried and told me to leave; she said I must not really love her. I stalled for a few minutes, waiting for her to change her mind. She did not.
Hadn’t I proven time after time I would always be there, that I truly loved her and would do anything I could for her? Hadn’t I talked her out of suicide multiple times, holding her on the bathroom floor or in bed as she cried uncontrollably night after night? Didn’t I lay with her in the hospital telling her things would be better someday? And now she’s saying I don't care and she doesn’t want me around?
So I left the building.
I went to my car to think for a few minutes. I decided to go back to Mary’s room. I asked her if she really wanted me to go. She said if I wouldn't give her the muscle-relaxers, then I should.
I left again.
I have no idea what to do or how much longer I can take this. Tears are streaming down my face and I am asking God, once again, for help. My life has fallen apart and I see no daylight ahead.
Mary is still furious with me about check-in night at the “rehabilitation center,” as they delicately call it. She is enraged at me because I refused to give her muscle-relaxers despite strict orders to the contrary. Weaning her off the plethora of medications she was on was the whole idea of bringing her here: sixteen prescribed meds daily and another ten to be used “as needed.” Up to twenty-six different medications a day for one person (and she weighed less than 120 lbs.)!
And they were not helping; quite the opposite, actually.
I stood firm on that first night, refusing to “help her pain” by disobeying facility commands. Mary cried and told me to leave; she said I must not really love her. I stalled for a few minutes, waiting for her to change her mind. She did not.
Hadn’t I proven time after time I would always be there, that I truly loved her and would do anything I could for her? Hadn’t I talked her out of suicide multiple times, holding her on the bathroom floor or in bed as she cried uncontrollably night after night? Didn’t I lay with her in the hospital telling her things would be better someday? And now she’s saying I don't care and she doesn’t want me around?
So I left the building.
I went to my car to think for a few minutes. I decided to go back to Mary’s room. I asked her if she really wanted me to go. She said if I wouldn't give her the muscle-relaxers, then I should.
I left again.
*
The Most Loving Thing I Could Do
sitting outside your prison
where they’re trying to figure you out
wondering why you?
why now?
what’s this crazy world all about?
Been trying to read a little
but thinking of you a lot
you’re stuck inside alone
wondering if you’ll make it or not
I keep tearing up
looking to the sky
drops smack the pavement
as I ask “oh God, why?”
I know you feel so alone
maybe someday it will make sense to you
why I didn’t give you what you asked for
that’s the most loving thing I could do
I withheld from you
what I was ordered not to give
even when you said
I should leave
there was no reason for you to live
I would give up us
my love
only if that would help you
maybe someday you will understand
that’s the most loving thing I could do.
–KM (February ’08)
*
The Most Loving Thing I Could Do
sitting outside your prison
where they’re trying to figure you out
wondering why you?
why now?
what’s this crazy world all about?
Been trying to read a little
but thinking of you a lot
you’re stuck inside alone
wondering if you’ll make it or not
I keep tearing up
looking to the sky
drops smack the pavement
as I ask “oh God, why?”
I know you feel so alone
maybe someday it will make sense to you
why I didn’t give you what you asked for
that’s the most loving thing I could do
I withheld from you
what I was ordered not to give
even when you said
I should leave
there was no reason for you to live
I would give up us
my love
only if that would help you
maybe someday you will understand
that’s the most loving thing I could do.
–KM (February ’08)
*
Mary had been manic on the drive down from Knoxville, Tennessee, the phase of her illness when
she felt indescribable euphoria. I dreaded this stage because of the devastating low that inevitably followed. And it wasn’t her; it was a fake happiness, a mirage.
She’d had these sporadic manic periods for years, often staying awake for days. Mary would finish entire novels in one sitting or jog for miles, despite rarely exercising normally. It was a
fantasy-like high, as if she were on hallucinogenic drugs.
The rehab center was one highly-monitored hallway of rooms. Patients stood inert with blank
expressions on their faces. Others stared at bare walls as if there were no life inside them. I could not tell what gender some of the patients were. There were odd, primal sounds coming out of
several rooms.
Nearly all the patients had attempted suicide at least once, some several times. Many were in the midst of electro-shock treatments. It was a sullen, grave place, much like the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest with Jack Nicholson.
The huge difference to me, of course, was that in this real-life psych ward, my fiancée was the main
character.
Mary was adamant that no one know the whole truth of our predicament. A great number of
prejudices and stereotypes are associated with mental illness in our society and she did not want to be judged unfairly. Nor did she want pity. My friends and family eventually began to suspect something was not right, but chose not to pry. I admitted to others that Mary struggled with migraines
and insomnia—which she did—but no one had a clue how serious her problems were.
In the meantime, I could feel myself slipping away. I was going down with the ship. My mind was a whirlwind of worry, sadness, confusion and anger. It was overwhelming.
I feared I was losing my mind.
Repeatedly, I asked God for help, but things kept getting worse. What did Mary do to deserve this?
She was a good person—so great with kids—yet had suffered almost her entire life.
And, what did I do? I was a good person. Had I not spent years in low-paying jobs helping others
instead of chasing a bigger paycheck elsewhere? And for what, so we could struggle with bills and barely afford groceries?
I often feared Mary would finally give up. She swore she could never do that to me, but she talked
about it often.
We had no idea how long Mary would be at the rehab center. Thank God my boss was understanding
and told me to stay as long as I needed and not worry about work right now (I only told my boss that Mary’s health was terrible and we were going to a center to help her regulate her medications). I had very little money, hence the shoddy motel. My “smoke-free” room reeked of cigarettes and had multiple burn holes in the drapes and comforter. The cleaning crew neglected to clean the shavings from the previous guest, which were still on the bathroom counter-top and in the sink. Yet compared
to Mary’s circumstances, I had no right to feel sorry for myself.
After Mary asked me to leave, I drove an hour toward home before I swallowed my pride and returned to be with her. I didn’t know if she would pull through. I didn’t know if either of us would ever be “okay” again. I had no idea how we’d gotten into this mess or if we could get back out.
Visiting hours at the center were 5 to 9 pm. I spent the days reading and writing, but mostly worrying. I also passed time in a small hospital chapel next door to Mary’s facility, meditating and praying. I prayed mostly for Mary, but—for the first time in years—I also prayed for myself.
she felt indescribable euphoria. I dreaded this stage because of the devastating low that inevitably followed. And it wasn’t her; it was a fake happiness, a mirage.
She’d had these sporadic manic periods for years, often staying awake for days. Mary would finish entire novels in one sitting or jog for miles, despite rarely exercising normally. It was a
fantasy-like high, as if she were on hallucinogenic drugs.
The rehab center was one highly-monitored hallway of rooms. Patients stood inert with blank
expressions on their faces. Others stared at bare walls as if there were no life inside them. I could not tell what gender some of the patients were. There were odd, primal sounds coming out of
several rooms.
Nearly all the patients had attempted suicide at least once, some several times. Many were in the midst of electro-shock treatments. It was a sullen, grave place, much like the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest with Jack Nicholson.
The huge difference to me, of course, was that in this real-life psych ward, my fiancée was the main
character.
Mary was adamant that no one know the whole truth of our predicament. A great number of
prejudices and stereotypes are associated with mental illness in our society and she did not want to be judged unfairly. Nor did she want pity. My friends and family eventually began to suspect something was not right, but chose not to pry. I admitted to others that Mary struggled with migraines
and insomnia—which she did—but no one had a clue how serious her problems were.
In the meantime, I could feel myself slipping away. I was going down with the ship. My mind was a whirlwind of worry, sadness, confusion and anger. It was overwhelming.
I feared I was losing my mind.
Repeatedly, I asked God for help, but things kept getting worse. What did Mary do to deserve this?
She was a good person—so great with kids—yet had suffered almost her entire life.
And, what did I do? I was a good person. Had I not spent years in low-paying jobs helping others
instead of chasing a bigger paycheck elsewhere? And for what, so we could struggle with bills and barely afford groceries?
I often feared Mary would finally give up. She swore she could never do that to me, but she talked
about it often.
We had no idea how long Mary would be at the rehab center. Thank God my boss was understanding
and told me to stay as long as I needed and not worry about work right now (I only told my boss that Mary’s health was terrible and we were going to a center to help her regulate her medications). I had very little money, hence the shoddy motel. My “smoke-free” room reeked of cigarettes and had multiple burn holes in the drapes and comforter. The cleaning crew neglected to clean the shavings from the previous guest, which were still on the bathroom counter-top and in the sink. Yet compared
to Mary’s circumstances, I had no right to feel sorry for myself.
After Mary asked me to leave, I drove an hour toward home before I swallowed my pride and returned to be with her. I didn’t know if she would pull through. I didn’t know if either of us would ever be “okay” again. I had no idea how we’d gotten into this mess or if we could get back out.
Visiting hours at the center were 5 to 9 pm. I spent the days reading and writing, but mostly worrying. I also passed time in a small hospital chapel next door to Mary’s facility, meditating and praying. I prayed mostly for Mary, but—for the first time in years—I also prayed for myself.