Gina Tron is no stranger to raw honesty on the page. A prolific writer and poet, she has authored three memoirs, including her 2014 debut You’re Fine, praised by Interview Magazine as “vibrant, darkly funny, and courageously candid.” Her most recent memoir, Suspect, delves into complex topics like bullying, toxic female friendships, and the systemic failures that lead to cycles of violence and isolation, showcasing the same unflinching voice that defines all of her work. In Suspect, Gina reflects on being a teenager in a rural Vermont high school in the period immediately following the Columbine shooting, when she was accused of being a would-be school shooter. The publisher of Suspect identifies the book as “more than just a personal recollection—it is an examination of how people perceive mass shootings and the contagion effect.”
In addition to her memoirs, Gina’s writing includes poetry collections—her 2020 debut Star 67 featured a Pushcart-nominated poem—and years of investigative journalism for outlets like The Washington Post, VICE, Politico, and The Daily Beast. Her writing and work advocating for rape victim-survivors has made a tangible impact, contributing to NYC legislative efforts and a DOJ investigation into the NYPD’s Special Victims Department. Gina holds an MFA in Writing and Publishing from the Vermont College of Fine Arts.
Over the past month, Gina and I have been corresponding about Suspect, her thoughts on writing as a form of reckoning, and her take on today’s publishing landscape. In the discussion below, we explore the challenges of revisiting difficult experiences, balancing memoir with social commentary, and the complexities of bringing deeply personal stories into the world.
BAM: Let’s start with Suspect before diving into the finer points of the publishing process. In the book, you explore the complexities of female friendships—particularly the toxicity that can exist in these relationships and how this has historically been overlooked or dismissed. You’ve mentioned that it wasn’t until the early 21st century that this dynamic began to receive serious attention. How has this cultural shift shaped your understanding of your own experiences?
GT: The cultural shift has been validating. I’ve learned the journey I had with toxic female friendships in my youth is disturbingly common. In high school and college, I thought my experience was rare or unique, and as a result, it felt isolating. As I mention in the book, I spent countless hours in my undergraduate college library desperately trying to research adolescent female friendships. This was just a few years after the most pivotal moments depicted in this book, so I was searching for meaning and catharsis. I didn’t find much, and the internet was still in its early stages, so I also had little luck there. That is why I would gravitate to films that honed in on these friendship dynamics, like Heathers and The Craft. As the cultural shift began and more light shone on young female relationships—and more cultural focus on women in general—I grew to understand my experience as universal. I’ve been able to bond with other women, nearly all women, who lived some version of this in their young lives. Girls bully one another in ways different than boys, and while it can appear more subtle from a male-focused lens, the damage is just as destructive.
BAM: You’ve built strong, authentic voices for the characters across all your books. In Suspect, the voices of your teenage and pre-teen self—and those of your peers—are particularly poignant and well-drawn. How did you go about constructing these? Did you rely on primary texts like diaries or journals to capture that voice? What was it like to revisit those materials, and how did they shape your writing process?
GT: I spent more time, research, and consideration constructing the voices of the people depicted in this book (myself included) than in my other books. Of all my books, this one is the most sensitive. Of the memoirs I’ve written, this is the most important story in terms of my own personal history. It is also highly sensitive due to the larger issues regarding mass shootings examined in the Suspect. I felt extreme internal pressure to get it all right. While I always aim to be as considerate and authentic as possible, I was extra careful and thoughtful with Suspect. It was vital to me that I shape each character in a way that is as kind, as three-dimensional, and as nuanced as possible. I re-read journals and diaries, news articles about my incident, and about similar incidents around the country. I talked to former classmates to make sure my memory is not too skewed and because I value others’ insight. Today, I am literally married to “Evan,” whom people said I wanted to kill back in high school, so I’ve been able to process this from many angles. I realize that each person’s perception is warped to some degree, especially when your brain is still forming. I wanted to stay true to my teenage prescription and memory while making it as honest, authentic, and fair as possible. It is incredibly important to me that this book is as fair and accurate as possible. I struggled deeply, wondering if I had overcorrected one way or another in terms of how forgiving or hard I was on myself or others. Sometimes, I felt I was too harsh, yet other times, I feel as if I was much fairer to people depicted than they actually deserved. But I’d rather show more grace than the other way around.
BAM: As in much of your work, Suspect skillfully walks the line between memoir, social commentary, and straight journalism. How did you approach striking that balance in this book? Did it feel different compared to your previous projects?
GT: I would lie if I said this was easy to balance. It has not been. The humble beginnings of Suspect kicked off as all memoir, but at some point, I decided to weave in journalism. I landed on each chapter needing to start and end with journalism, with memoir in the middle. That sandwich structure is no longer uniform across the book; some chapters still have that or remnants of it, but I became less rigid with that structure over time. The journalistic parts were also initially much denser. In 2018, Suspect was 86K words long. It has since been cut down to less than 60K words. Much of the research itself was weighing down the memoir and wasn’t propelling the story forward, so it needed a hatchet job. I also cut down a lot of the memoir, parts that were redundant. For example, there were initially many more scenes of me being bullied, and it was starting to feel gratuitous because that point had already been made. While previous books of mine include first-person journalism and research, the amount of research and interviews I conducted for this was much greater.
BAM: Let’s talk about the overall structure of Suspect. What guiding principle shaped how you organized the book? Did the structure evolve naturally, or was it something you carefully planned from the outset?
GT: My first two memoirs were based around a short period of time. With You’re Fine., the focus was a week in my life with some flashback chapters. Eat, Fuck, (write about) Murder was based on a period of just a few months. This book spans over seven years, which meant more complicated dilemmas about what to include and what to omit. While I did structure it chronically for the most part, there are some chronological overlaps because I decided to organize the chapters more by theme. As I got more serious about completing this book, I did become strict about having journalism sandwich memoir in each chapter. It soon became somewhat stifling and, at times, forced and drowning out my personal story, so I had to bend my own rules.
BAM: As with much of your work, Suspect doesn’t shy away from raw, painful moments—some of which must have been difficult to revisit. There are also parts that many writers might have avoided, whether because they’re unflattering or just downright embarrassing. How did you navigate the process of sharing such vulnerable material?
GT: We are all embarrassing—dare I say cringe—at times. It would be even more embarrassing if I tried to paint myself as a polished, perfect victim in this. I am not. For example, I share that I became obsessed with Columbine, that I felt sympathy and even attraction to the killers, and that I developed a bizarre belief that I had some sort of control over lightning storms. I also admit to fantasizing about wanting to shoot up my school. While yes, that was very fleeting and not a serious thought, I decided it was important to include. I’d be lying by omission if I didn’t include that. I feel like many kids in my position have those thoughts, particularly those who are bullied, and I think it’s OK to admit that these thoughts occur in unhealthy circumstances. That being said, I made the decision not to dwell on that particular thought in a literary sense, as I didn’t think the book needed a fantastical scene of gratuitous violence like that. We have enough of that in reality, and this wasn’t a serious thought or plan. I had to remind myself, and I am continuing to remind myself, not to feel shame in admitting these thoughts and fleeting fantasies. If I polished myself as too good, it would offer little helpful insight into my actual thought process at the time, and it would be a disservice both to those who look at this anecdotal story as research and to those who turn to this book as catharsis. We are all flawed and have all thought problematic things.
BAM: OK, last question about the writing process, I promise. Do you think writing Suspect with the distance of several decades gave you an advantage? What were the benefits—and were there any downsides—to having that time and perspective?
GT: If I had written this book in my twenties, I would honestly have been more angry and spiteful. This is not the appropriate mindset for this subject matter. I would have been more focused on “setting the story straight” than trying to use my own experience as a jumping-off point for possible social commentary. The older I get, the less I care about showing the uglier sides of me. I think if I had written this directly after it happened, I would have been laser-focused on framing myself as the victim in this situation because I was still in my head fighting against the false accusation of being a potential murderer. In many ways, I was a victim, but it‘s more complex than that. I would have been way too scared to admit that I had any fascination with the Columbine killers when in truth I did. But it’s also true that I didn’t want to shoot up the school. With decades worth of time to reflect—and dwell—on this experience, I could process it from different versions of myself. I am now the age of the parents and teachers depicted in my book, and I myself have taught classes in high schools and college. Being on that side of the coin has allowed me to exercise more empathy for my former teachers and the administration.
One major downside of time passing is the chance of my memory being off. Unfortunately, this topic is still timely but there were moments I worried it would no longer be as relevant because so much time has passed. This book’s long, bumpy journey to publication has been frustrating because some points made in Suspect were more forward-thinking in 2018 than they are now.
BAM: Let’s talk about the violence that runs through so much of Suspect. Did writing the book lead you to any insights about the individuals—whether adolescents or adults—who commit the kinds of acts you describe? What did you take away from exploring this aspect of the story?
GT: With Suspect, I really hoped to be able to—after conducting research with experts in the field—make a thesis on the cause of mass shootings. But during this book’s journey, I had an editor tell me that my experience wasn’t about that, seeing as I never actually planned or wanted to shoot up my school. I had to temper my expectations. While I couldn’t make a huge, sweeping thesis about school shootings, I could emphasize that experts are no closer to understanding the core of the issue than what I already know by instinct, research, and experience. I discovered that there is a shocking lack of funds devoted to research on mass shootings. I was hoping to learn more nuanced information about copycat threats, but that subtopic has not received too much serious attention, or at least it didn’t when I was speaking to experts.
BAM: You mention that Suspect has had a long journey to publication. Can you talk about some of the challenges you faced along the way? Do you think the book’s subject matter contributed to those difficulties?
GT: At first I was working with a literary agent who was pitching this manuscript to mainstream publishers. While there was some interest, nobody wanted to take the risk. Memoirs are not very easy to sell in the mainstream market unless you are a celebrity. Also, a lot of publishers were afraid of the subject matter. One independent publisher was initially fiercely supportive of the book. Well, verbally. They kept avoiding signing a contract despite having my book in their hands for about two years. At some point, they grew fearful that they were going to be sued by a former teacher or classmate. I felt pressured to tone down the book, and I cut a few elements out as a result. I also told them to edit the unsigned contract so that I would be solely financially responsible for any backlash or legal issues. Anyway, that publisher then received an email from a woman who was a fan of the 2013 VICE piece I wrote about high school, which is a condensed version of this book. In the email she claimed I actually was a murderer, and the publisher got scared that she was going to get me canceled and make the publisher look bad. So, they dropped me, which was easy for them to do because there was no contract.
It was probably the worst day in my literary life. We worked together amicably for nearly two years, and much of that time involved me listening to the publisher’s personal dilemmas. Yet, they did not allow me to explain that this woman was not a real threat to the publisher’s reputation (or my own), that she was having a mental health crisis; they just didn’t want to get involved so they cut me off. She was emboldened by the publisher’s decision, and it fed into her delusions about me. In addition to the murder note, she thinks that A-list celebrities are hacking into her bank accounts and social media to steal from her. She has made dozens of death threats against me, and I now have a permanent restraining order against her. I have since talked about the ordeal on a true crime podcast. Another indie publisher then picked up Suspect, but ultimately I decided not to move forward with them due to structural changes at that press. I was very close to giving up on this book, but it was too important for me to give up on.
BAM: I’m sorry you had to go through that. What do you think your experience says about the current state of indie publishing? Are there particular challenges or opportunities you feel are shaping the industry right now?
GT: I am so grateful for indie publishing, but I am also frustrated by how it confines authors. Things go on behind the scenes, and authors are afraid to speak up or complain because they could be labeled a “problem author.” While authors are often depicted as wild and unreliable, in many cases they are actually the dependable, professional part of the equation. I find it disappointing that the existence of our books is often at the whim of one person’s mental health or based on a rash decision.
BAM: Looking back on both the writing and publishing process for Suspect, is there anything you would have approached differently? Were there any specific challenges or decisions you’d change in hindsight?
GT: I would have demanded a contract from that one publisher for sure. I had worked with an indie publisher previously without a contract and again, didn’t want to seem like a problem author. I feel like indie authors feel like we need to tiptoe on eggshells because we are just grateful someone is willing to publish our work. I would also try harder to tune out outside opinions. Because this book has changed hands so many times, I felt inclined to listen to different people’s voices about how the book should change, and often those opinions contradicted one another. I wish I had clung to my own intuition a bit harder, particularly when it came to listening to opinions that were based in fear. And to contradict that very statement I do wish that perhaps I had listened to some opinions earlier on about making Suspect more marketable, because I really do believe this book could be beneficial to a lot of young people out there. Indie publishing can feel limiting in scope, and it’s a lot of emotional labor to do much of your own marketing, especially when you have a job and other obligations.
BAM: Last question. Memoir is a challenging genre for many writers. It requires finding the right voice, balancing the personal with the universal, and grappling with thorny questions of “authenticity.” Yet in book after book, you’ve managed to achieve this balance brilliantly—and seemingly effortlessly. What advice would you give to writers who are considering diving into memoir, but feel overwhelmed by the vulnerability or unsure of where to begin?
GT: Thank you! That is a high compliment, and it means a hell of a lot coming from you! It’s funny you ask this, because I had two people ask me this recently when trying to approach writing in their own lives. I’d say dive as deep into the vulnerable as far as you can. Jot down the most humiliating, real parts of you, and don’t listen to that internal voice that wants to curate you into a “good” person. Shameful, honest, authentic moments resonate best with others. You can always delete it later or decide not to share it. Also, try to separate what is important to your own growth and life from what is important to a memoir. Remember, a memoir should be a story from your life that speaks to something more universal, so it’s OK to leave out scenes that don’t propel the story forward in a way that would be interesting to the audience. Don’t be scared of your authentic self because people can sense authenticity, and they are drawn to it.
BAM: That’s great advice. Thanks for all of your insights and for taking the time to chat. Best of luck with Suspect!
Bradford A. Masoni is a writer, editor, and translator who specializes in literary modernism with a particular focus on the transition from the many schools of 19th-century literary realism into modernism. He has published and presented on numerous authors, including Giovanni Verga, Ernst Mach, Emile Zola, Luigi Pirandello, Friedrich Nietzsche, Eugene Ionesco, and Vincenzo Consolo, as well as on literary modernism at large. He holds a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from the Graduate Center, CUNY, and his most recent book-length publication is a translation of Luigi Pirandello’s novel L’esclusa (The Outcast, Rutgers UP, 2023). He and his family currently live in Minnesota, where he spends his days reading, writing, playing music, cooking, and exploring the Great North with his rescue dogs, Dr. Frank N. Furter and Ignatius J. Reilly.
Photo credit: Arielle Thomas
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