Cindy Etherton writes about the inspiration behind her memoir Don’t Call This Fiction
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I first met my wife when she was dressed in a wig and gown. We were in a courtroom; she was the prosecution barrister, and I was the chief witness for the prosecution. This was part of a serious criminal trial which lasted six weeks. My evidence was called fiction, and my sexuality held against me.
My memoir, Don’t Call This Fiction, tells the story of a true crime and a lesbian love story. Reading memoirs inspired me to write this book, and helped me to adapt and deal with life. I was working on a novel but couldn’t fully focus until I told this story in the hope it might engage, encourage and help others. Since it came out in July, I have given interviews before live audiences and have received hundreds of messages expressing gratitude for sharing and inquiring about specifics.
This is why I wrote it.
I chose to publish this deeply personal story to use my experience to help readers navigate dangerous domestic situations. For me, hope became a discipline, and even at the worst of times, I walked upright and held on to dignity. I took lessons in life and never let go of my dreams. When I was in a horribly dire situation during my teenage years, I had
what felt like a visitation, a golden feeling that if I could just survive, leave home and make progress, there just might be something in the future for me. Perhaps even something special.
Although I progressed and recovered and was outwardly successful in life, I never found that elusive magic thing until my wedding night. Although we met decades after I had the golden vision, I think of my wife as my childhood sweetheart because that visitation was a longing for love. Once, while in Hong Kong, a famous fortune teller told me what my future held (he drew me a little picture) and part of it was that I would meet a partner who was born in the year of the Snake!
During the trial, I couldn’t help but notice the qualities of the woman who would one day become my wife. Afterwards, I wrote asking her to see me. I had an excuse because of a legal technicality. She checked with the Bar Council and agreed to meet me for a quick drink before we both went to meet friends for dinner. We only had an hour, but over a glass of champagne we clicked. That was in August, and we continued to meet as friends until 20 December. We exchanged books as gifts, had dinner, and we kissed. I found out she was born in the year of the snake. Two years later, we married at Claridge’s in London and now have an adopted daughter.
This is why I describe the book as a true crime wrapped in a love story because although we met in a courtroom, which is a dark place, together and holding hands we’ve moved into the open and the light. I’ve gained rare insights into the nature of certain crimes, which I share in the book.
A terrible crime meant we truly saw each other in a courtroom, and from that excruciating encounter we have made a beautiful life together.
Don’t Call This Fiction is available to buy now at troubador.co.uk/bookshop/autobiography/don-t-call-this-fiction and amazon.co.uk/Dont-Call-This-Fiction
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