Q&A with Jackie Shannon Hollis, author of This Particular Happiness: A Childless Love Story

“This is what I did. This is what my girlfriends did. With dolls, with little sisters and brothers, with children we babysat. We pretended. We practiced. We prepared. Our mothers said to us, ‘When you grow up.’ ‘When you have your own children.’ No question. We would grow up. We would have children of our own.”

~ from This Particular Happiness: A Childless Love Story


From the title and from the quote above, you might think Jackie Shannon Hollis’ new memoir, This Particular Happiness (Forest Avenue Press) is simply about one woman’s decision not to have children. But this book is so much more.

As women, we revolve around expectations passed down through generations: we will get married; we will have children; we will live happily ever after watching those children grow into adults, marry, have babies of their own. Those expectations may serve one woman well but may cloud the journey of another woman walking the same road.

Jackie Shannon Hollis’ new book digs into beliefs taken on so easily and grapples with the weight of them. When she meets and marries a man who does not want to have children, she must take a closer look at the vision of her life as she had planned it and redefine who she is outside of those expectations.

Written in a structure that mirrors the way we often reason things out, we walk alongside Hollis through past and present, as she studies one moment in relation to another, beginning to see how everything she has experienced is connected, not by the thread of desire to have children but by something much deeper and more vital to the core of her being: the desire to be happy, to love, and to be loved.

I’m thrilled to host Jackie today for an interview about her book, community, and the gift of travel. There’s also a book giveaway! Enter your name HERE by Tuesday, October 8th, for a chance to win a copy of This Particular Happiness.

And now, welcome Jackie Shannon Hollis!


Christi Craig (CC): Your memoir unfolds in a fluid way, moving back and forth in time, and several chapters work as stand-alone essays. Where did you begin in writing This Particular Happiness and when did you know it would become a memoir?

Happiness: Jackie Shannon Hollis

Jackie Shannon Hollis (JSH): I remember the exact moment. I was with my writing group. I brought in what I thought would be  an essay about being childless. I was in my mid-fifties and the essay was intended to explore what it was like to be at that point in my life when the possibility of pregnancy was long past, but the experience of being childless kept unfolding.

As often happens when I am writing these nonfiction pieces, I struggle with the awarenesses that context and personal history are such an important part of our current story. It’s hard to contain a story just in the present because I feel the need to understand how the present experience is informed by the past. As the group was critiquing my piece, they asked questions. “But why didn’t you have children.” “Why was it so important to you to stay with your husband when he didn’t want children and you did.” Well here was the whole entangled story to unravel and explore. I knew right then I wanted to write this longer story. 

CC: One of my favorite passages is in the chapter “A Path to Somewhere New,”where you write, “A friend said, ‘I look at your beautiful garden, your house, even the way you dress. It seems like something is trying to rise up in you.'”

She gently points you toward your creative self and writing, but really, what she says is indicative of how life works. As we go in search of who we are or what we are capable of, the pieces of the puzzle often lay right in front of us, if we are only willing to see them. Your book is testament to discovering those pieces and putting them together. It’s a book that will leave an impression on any woman struggling to move beyond the expectations society places on her. What impression has writing your memoir left on you? Or maybe a better question is, How has writing your memoir changed you?

JSH: Christi, I am so pleased that you were drawn to this chapter because, for me, this was a turning point in my life, for exactly the reason you express here. And it can get lost in the idea that this book is solely about childlessness. I see This Particular Happiness as being about the discovery of self and an exploration of meaning. I think most women go through this at some point, whether they have children or not, a turning point where we look at what we are doing and ask the questions: Is this what I want, or is it someone else’s want? How do I carry the expectations of others? How do I move forward when I know I am turning away from what is expected of me?

Writing this memoir deepened the sense that this path I am on is where all the various threads of my life were leading me. I feel a sense of confidence in myself that comes of no longer being secretive about the fact that I longed for a child, and the times where that longing still rises up. And I feel a confidence that comes from having chosen this different path, one I am happy about and likely would not have found had I followed the expected.

CC: Several years ago you wrote a beautiful guest post for my blog, “Writers as Witness,” where you talk about being in community and the rhythm of writing. What has been the greatest gift in sharing with other writers this journey to self, story, and publication?

JSH: The community of writers IS the gift of this whole experience for me (and I must say my community of non-writers had been delightfully excited about my writing all along and especially about this book).  

Happiness: Writing group gathered at table with pen and paper

I am part of a writing group that meets weekly. We call ourselves The Dreamies. We’ve been together for many years. We know each other and know and respect the unique angle each of us take in critiquing a piece of work that one of us brings in. My memoir was shaped in this group. I cannot thank them enough for their ears and eyes on my pages, and for listening to revision after revision of chapters I was struggling with.

Three of the five other writers in the group have previously published books and their guidance has been so important to me, both in the querying and submitting to publishers, and now in bringing the book out for publication. This is a long and vulnerable process and it helps to have people who have had similar ups and downs offer support, encouragement, advice, and reality checks.

I’ve wanted to have a book out there for a long time. For a while, I’d made peace with the possibility that this might not happen. Now that it is happening, I don’t feel like I am more or less for having a book published. I still feel like me. And yet, I do feel a new kind of confidence that goes with having made it to this point. And there is a certain external validation that comes of having a solid book to hold in my hands.

But most joyous to me is being part of the literary community, being celebrated for showing up, for writing, for continuing to write through difficult times, for risking on the page. This is what the writers I know and honor do for each other. 

CC: What are you reading these days?

JSH: Over the summer I read three ARC’s. Two debut memoirs which captivated me. Codependence: Essays, by Amy L. Long, is an exploration of chronic pain and opiate addiction told from the perspective of someone who understands her addiction and sees it as vital to management of her pain. This Is My Body: A Memoir of Religious and Romantic Obsession, by Cameron Dezen Hammon, is a very personal exploration of her faith and of love. And I read The Royal Abduls, by Ramiza Koya, which is the next book coming out from Forest Avenue Press. I’m really excited about this book. 

I am just now finishing Sion Dayson’s debut novel, As a River.  She writes beautifully and with a sureness I admire, and the story is powerful.

I also listened to two very brutal and deeply researched and beautifully reported non-fiction books on audio. Missoula, by Jon Krakauer. I’m a bit late coming to this book, which came out in 2016. It’s about the sexual assault cases at the university there and the minimal response by the University and law enforcement. And Columbine, by Dave Cullen. Wow is this a powerful book.

CC: In your memoir, you touch on some of your travels. Where is one favorite place to visit?

JSH: I’ve had the good fortune to travel many places. I’m drawn to any place that offers me a view of other ways of living, new perspectives, different foods and landscapes and languages. But also, Bill and I now travel to the same places more than we go to new places. We go to London and Switzerland, to see friends whom we met on our travels. They have become family, which is something I write about in This Particular Happiness.

Happiness: desert land, The Wave Trail in Utah.

Of the places I’ve been, if we’re speaking of landscape alone, I am still most captivated by the southwest desert of the US — Southern Utah, Arizona. I also write about this in my memoir. In the desert you can see, so vividly, how the land was formed — under water, through earthquake and upheavals. The layers of time are painted into the landscape. The colors, the sense of unmarred history consistently draws me back. It’s a beautiful area to hike and to experience solitude.


Jackie Shannon Hollis, a lifelong Oregonian, resides with her husband in a home her friends call the treehouse. Her education and work as a counselor also pushed her to hold up the mirror to her own self. In addition to thinking she would be a mother, she once dreamed of being a June Taylor dancer or a racecar driver. Her short stories and essays have been published in The Sun, Slice, Inkwell, High Desert Journal, Rosebud, and other publications. Read more about Jackie and her writing on her website.

*Photo of group above by Dylan Gillis on Unsplash
*Photo of desert: The Wave Trail, Utah by 
Gert Boers on Unsplash

Don’t forget: enter the giveaway by Tuesday, October 8th, for a chance to win a copy of This Particular Happiness.

BRAVE ON THE PAGE & Guest Post by Jackie Shannon Hollis

“To create art (not just story), go into The Cave by yourself. Be brave enough to write in the dark without other people’s opinions until you feel you’ve found your voice.”
~ from Tammy Lynne Stoner’s essay, “Making Feral Creatures,” in Brave on the Page

It takes great courage to sit down and face the blank page, to put down on paper those stories close to you, to share those stories with others. Writing is not for the faint of heart.

While we may tackle first drafts alone, success often results from time spent in community with other writers — in critique groups, in workshops, or in those simple moments when we meet for coffee and talk about the frustrations and the freedom in writing. This is the crux of Brave on the Page, a book full of shared insight and advice. Edited by Laura Stanfill, this book blends author interviews with a collection of short essays on writing and offers readers a variety of perspectives on the craft.

Today, Jackie Shannon Hollis, one of the authors featured in Brave on the Page guest posts. She shares on how solitude may inspire us, but community helps guide us through our writing.

Writers as Witness

I write on Mondays and Tuesdays, and on Wednesday afternoons, I take those pages (five, ten, fifteen) to my critique group. Each of us in turn hand out copies of our work and read it out loud. What I can’t hear or see when I read to myself is revealed around the table, with these witnesses. Awkward bumps in language, over-reaching, missing details. We talk about the story, anything from where a sentence break or comma should be, to deleting or moving or reworking paragraphs. We write notes on the pages. Sometimes the notes applaud the grace of the words, the humor, the courage. A note that says, “Damn, this is so beautiful, I kind of hate you.” Or, “The dishes can wait, the email can wait. You’ve got work to do. Keep going.” I learn as much from listening to others’ work as I do from reading my own. I take my pages with those notes and go home. Alone to revise, and to write another section.

A few weeks ago I went to the beach for six days of writing. I’m working on a memoir about being childless, about how a marriage survives when one partner wants a child and the other doesn’t. I had lots of sections done, and many notes of what was left to do. I needed the solitude to get a sense of the whole, how it would all work together. The first few days were slow going and I worried I wasn’t getting enough done.

When I’m stuck in my work, I like to move. To drive or work in the garden or take a long walk. I took a lot of walks that week. Manzanita beach is my favorite shore with its long stretch of flat sand. Birds, a few people, a few dogs.

One morning, after a long walk, I stood and watched the ocean. The waves, the morning sun, the clouds. A line of birds (cormorants? frigate birds?) trailed each other low over the surf, a ribbony kite string of birds. I listened to the ocean, that constant shush and roar. I listened for the sentences, the ideas, the shape of my project.

A surfer carried his board across the sand. His board was old and white and stained. He stepped into the water, pulled up the hood of his wet suit, shifted his board, and pulled the rope from the fin and wrapped it on his wrist, then flipped the board, turned it around, and let it go.

It was a rhythm. The way he took himself to the water.

He walked with his arms raised, trailing the board behind on that rope. He had to get past the breakers to the flat water, where the big waves would come. When the water was high on his chest he climbed on his board and paddled. The rise and fall of the breakers pushed him up and over, up and over.

He’d done this many times.

When he reached the far water, he joined three other surfers already there. They greeted him. They paddled, bellies down, on their boards. One rose up and caught a wave; rode the curve just ahead of that horizontal curl of white. The others watched. When he was done, they called out and spoke in the sign language of surfers. Another caught a wave. The others watched and called out. And so on.

I am in another writing group. One that meets a few times a year. Alone, we read a whole manuscript. We come together for one evening and talk about that manuscript. What is working, what is left to be done. It is intense and overwhelming and full of care for this big work.

In both of my writing groups, I have a deep respect for what each of us bring to the table. Not just the writing, but who we are as readers. We bring something particular, something that is needed. One person tracks the fine details, another looks for where tension goes slack, another notices where the voice is lost. We stir the creative in each other. The discussion is rich and deep and the critique always helps the writer delve further, dig more into their work.

We are like those surfers, gathering in deep water, we compete, we show off, we fall. Each of us know a special thing, how to move to standing, how to find balance, how to judge which is the best wave and where to meet it.

We are writers.

Alone, we make our way. We gather out there, in the flat beyond the breakers. Between the waves.

Jackie Shannon Hollis lives and writes in Portland, Oregon. Her work has appeared in various literary magazines including, The Sun, Rosebud, Slice, High Desert Journal, and Inkwell. She has completed a novel and is working on a memoir. You can see more of her work at http://www.jackieshannonhollis.com. You can find her flash essay “Move” alongside other writers (including some from her writing groups), in Brave on the Page: Oregon Writers on Craft and the Creative Life.

About the book:
Brave on the Page is a craft book, a how-to guide, a catalogue of successes and failures, and above all, a celebration of what it means to be a writer in Oregon. The 200-page collection, edited by Laura Stanfill, features forty-two authors and their views on creation, revision and the publication process. Brave on the Page is available made-to-order at the Espresso Book Machine in the purple room at the downtown Powell’s Books, 1005 W. Burnside, Portland. It is also available online at ondemandbooks.com or at any Espresso Book Machine around the world (see the list of locations here).