An Interview with Wendy Reed Bruce
By Janine C. Hagan
Wendy Reed Bruce received The Lincoln Award for Unity for her documentary “ A Closer Look: The Alabama Institute for the Deaf and Blind” and a fellowship from the Alabama State Council on the Arts for fiction. Her publications and awards also include New Letters, New Millennium, Writing Today, Livingston Press, and George Mason University. Her latest documentary, “Mother's Day” was runner-up in the National Council on Family Research media competition. She writes, directs, produces and teaches at The University of Alabama and lives in Hoover with her three children.

Janine: Wendy, thank you so much for your willingness to do this interview. I’ll admit that we had a rather unusual way of meeting. (I had a dream which led me to Wendy’s poignant article in The Birmingham News one Sunday. From there I ventured into email correspondence.)

When I actually met face-to-face with you, I discovered that you are not only a producer and director, but that you are a busy professor, mom, daughter, and student all at the same time! I know that our readers will be interested in hearing about your family and faith. Will you tell us about them and your own religious/faith background?

Wendy: Technically, I can’t be called a professor yet. But I’m working on it. At this point I’m just an adjunct instructor who won’t finish her PhD for a while. All of my roles, jobs, whatever you want to call them somehow blend or converge into very similar responsibilities. Mothers are teachers so there’s no difference there--except the pay. Mothers don’t get paychecks. Surprisingly, producers are an awful lot like mothers: whether it’s an idea or a child, we conceive, grow, labor into being, and then after birthing, shape them as best we can.

I’m lucky because I have the best children ever. I can’t separate my faith from my family because, (and yes I know that every parent thinks their child is a miracle) I really almost lost my children in 2001 in an automobile accident. Going through broken necks, near amputated legs, muscle transplants and such necessitates a belief in something outside of myself. In my case, faith, something I’ve joked that I’ve been cursed with since birth, sustained me, along with an incredible support group of friends and family. My kids are walking miracles.

Although I have a tough time with the way organized religion sometimes damages faith, I’ve never doubted that we as humans in our limited knowledge and abilities are really trying to get to something we instinctively know to be true, to be vital; I tend to call it God’s love. And I confess one of the attractions of Jesus in the New Testament for me comes from His rebellious nature. No matter if you believe Jesus to be the messiah or not, he’s quite anti-establishment. But so full of love for the rejected.

I’m not always gutsy enough to go against the grain or stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves, but I’m making gains. And since I’m trying to be gutsy, I want to say how frustrated I get with people who stay inside their own little boxes. All that bumping into your own corners can’t be good. I teach, and yes I admit sometimes preach, that each person should use the brain we were born with to study how we got here, before trying to figure out where we need to go. I know it’s hard to apply cerebral energy (I know because I’m lazy, too. I’d rather absorb something rather than research it). But we have to be a critical thinker. Critical thinking always takes time and energy, but if we don’t think for ourselves and base our information on more than a few sources, then we are easily led. And where we’re led may be down the wrong path, in the wrong direction. Think Jim Jones, Hitler, Abu Ghraib. I’d better get off my soapbox.

Janine: Tell us about your position as the Producer/Director for the Center for Public Television and Radio at the University of Alabama. What is the story behind that?

Wendy: It’s not very glamorous. It starts with divorce, the desire to have health insurance and a dependency on food, which can lead to reading the want ads. I wasn’t in television like the ad required, but I had written a script with two Hunter Street Baptist Church members for a Cornerstone Schools television special and so had a demo tape of sorts to show. Even though my MA was in English, it had a concentration in creative writing. I was trying with all my might to craft stories, not just write them. The Center for Public TV invited me for an interview and asked me if I had any documentary story ideas that I could begin working on immediately. And, as luck would have it, I did. A historian friend and I had been researching a matrilineal plantation in Alabama’s black belt. It was perfect for their series The Alabama Experience, and so I was hired. They said if I concentrated on the stories, they’d help me with the medium. That was five and a half years ago. I’m still learning. It’s such a privilege to get to tell these stories for public television and not have to worry about the commercial aspects of TV.

Janine: When we actually met, you mentioned the fact that you teach some courses there at the university. You also talked about working on another degree. Will you share with us about these?

Wendy: I am a doctoral student in communications. I hope to work on family communication, specifically post-divorce families. Divorce numbers are actually down from some of the numbers in the first half of the nineteenth century, though people often think current times are just horrible. Thanks to the popularity of the first TV families (Leave it To Beaver and Father Knows Best), family life, which was glamorized on purpose, and the whole concept of American families got confused by fiction and fantasy. Perfect families have never existed and won’t until we have perfect people. But we can be real and still communicate in ways that don’t hinder or harm each other. I want to work and research in that area to help people become more accepting and better at relating to each other. That’s what I hope to do, but what I’m actually teaching right now is Screenwriting, Documentary Form and English composition and literature, depending on my schedule and what classes are available. I want to keep teaching about the power of story however it comes, English, Communication, it doesn’t matter, because they are interrelated

Janine: At the same time that we discussed learning and experiences, you mentioned something about the “teacher presenting itself.” This is a wonderful quote for all of us. Will you expand a little on this?

Wendy: When I took my job, my thesis director at UAB, Bob Collins, who had inspired me through the difficult days of thesis writing, assured me I was doing the right thing. I was leaving a job as President Reynolds’s speechwriter and this meant leaving all the different kinds of work I was doing at UAB, where I’d started as a teenager. I was scared. But I suffer from wanderlust, and though I’m not going to travel around the world until my children get grown, I could expand my horizons a bit—the fifty miles to Tuscaloosa. My director said not to think twice about it, to go, I was ready. I, of course, disagreed. There were so many unknowns. Then he said, “When the student is ready the teacher will appear.” Well, now five years later, I’m a student again officially with some of the nation’s most respected communication professionals. I don’t know if I’m ready or not but I’m willing. And I’m still learning about telling stories through all of the mediums: books, TV, and the most amazing these days, the internet.

Janine: How would you name your creativity/work within the context of your faith? Or, put another way, what part does faith play in the framework of using your many gifts?

Wendy: I have a book coming out next year that I’ve co-edited called All Out of Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality. It deals with women who have fought to maintain their faith outside of the box in the culture of the South, a culture that has had a love/hate relationship with women’s issues. It’s not prescriptive or diagnostic in any way; it just lets some of the most gifted southern women talk about their spiritual path, women like Lee Smith, Cassandra King, Sue Monk Kidd, Dianne McWhorter, Sena Jeter Naslund, Barbara Kingsolver, and Jeanie Thompson.

My co-editor Jennifer Horne and I tried to include a variety of voices and experiences and even have a Birmingham cantor included. I got the idea when I was producing Rebels in the Pulpit, Early Alabama Women Preachers because there was a time when women were told that they shouldn’t speak in church, or preach in church, or pray in church. And it is heartbreaking, the stories of women like Mary Lee Cagle who suffered because she felt God calling her to do something that society didn’t support.

Rejection isn’t a new story. From Moses, to Jesus, to the Salem Witch Trials and Matthew Shephard, people outside the box often get persecuted; it’s not an old story, either; it still happens today. Beliefs and judgment and tolerance get all wound up in actions that can be very damaging. But Mary Lee went on to co-found The Church of the Nazarene, a success story indeed, and she demonstrates an amazing faith, an amazing courage, and an amazing spirit.

My oldest turns 19 today. She came into the kitchen this morning and said she felt like she was supposed to do something ministry-wise with her life. Her chin seemed to drag the floor. “I don’t want to,” she said. I hugged her and reminded her she’s only a freshman in college. She doesn’t have to have all the answers right now. Sometimes it isn’t the destination nearly as much as the journey. I told her to relax and enjoy the trip. We can try lots of paths over our lifetime. “Follow your heart and your bliss,” I said. I think these two go hand in hand when navigating the right direction. For me it isn’t always easy, because I’m a bit of a dissident by nature, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Janine: Okay. This is a question for my benefit. How do you manage to do all of this? What brings you the greatest source of energy for some of these areas of your life? What holds the greatest meaning for you in life and work?

Wendy: If you saw my house, you’d understand that I don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s always a wreck. And I ask for a lot of help. I can’t do this by myself. My kids pitch in. My students pitch in. I have a phenomenally supportive boss. And I let some things go. A little mildew in the bathtub won’t kill you. I do try to manage and prioritize and make lots of lists.

My father had a tremendous work ethic. He worked for thirty-five years in the iron and steel industry constantly pulling double shifts. I always thought it was to make more money and usually it was, but at Dad’s funeral I met someone who revealed a different motivation. The man told me that he had suffered a heart attack and because big companies aren’t always kind to their employees, he faced losing his job during his recovery time. He’d been told to get the work done or get another job basically. So my dad went in and worked his coworker’s shift and then his own until his coworker recovered and could get back into the tin mill. And their work wasn’t pushing paper clips; it was strenuous stuff.

I think I inherited that from my Dad. Some of my energy comes from trying to do what’s right, of trying to follow Jesus’ example in the Garden of Gethsemane: to pray in spite of the fatigue. Though in reality I’m more like the disciples who will fall asleep if I am tired enough. I’d like to think I’m not, but after a while, I just have to shut down and sleep. Or re-charge by reading a novel.

For Christmas, my boyfriend gave me a prayer bell. It sits beside my bed and even though I don’t ring it routinely, I’m trying. We have to find stillness; if we can’t, we have to make it. But while this stillness is something that requires solitude sometimes, I also find sanctuary with my children doing silly things. Never am I more aware of the Divine than when the kids and I are dancing in the kitchen while the stir-fry burns. And yesterday my 17-year old and I borrowed my son and his friend’s razor scooter. She and I went up and down some very steep driveways around our house. We assessed the danger, took stock of our abilities, and held on as those little pieces of metal rolled along the contours. We laughed. We held our breath. It was such a rush. I now advocate scooter therapy.

Interestingly, the documentary I’m currently working on is about students deciding to choose death as their life’s profession: morticians. These people will deal with death everyday, and I’m fascinated by how they do it. Are they spiritual? Faithful? Christian? So I guess I’m lucky because I get to explore questions I have and understand issues that matter to me in my work. My last documentary dealt with women who were incarcerated and how they continued their role as mothers. Riding in a van with children on the way to visit their mothers for their allotted three hours a month makes things like mildew in the bath tub irrelevant.

Janine: If you could name one of your favorite productions, what would it be? What would you name as being the “root” of attachment for you in this work?

Wendy: Let me name influences. That’s easier. I have a difficult time choosing favorites. And for me the medium doesn’t matter so much as the content. Let’s start with the King James Bible. What a work. The poetry. The history. The stories. It’s how I first began to understand language.

Then writers like Edgar Allan Poe, Hawthorne, Melville, Dickinson, Plath. Especially to me as an adolescent, their angst felt gripping. Then I stumbled onto Flannery O’Connor and her notion of grace. That woman knew sin and redemption in ways that still amaze me. Sister Helen Prejean and Mother Theresa. Talk about strong women who can pass a torch.

I love that Michael Moore has put documentaries on the pop culture map. And Mel Gibson did the same sort of thing in the same year but with different methodology. Both men got strung up for it, which may be why I mention them here in the Easter Issue. Why is it we think we have to agree with someone to support or respect them? Why are we so drawn to lynching? We need more heroes like Mr. Rogers, not Arnold Schwarzenegger. Roberto Benini and Life is Beautiful speak to the power of faith outside of fact. Il Postino makes me weep for its beauty. As does Rent. The Cohen brothers completely tickle my funny bone. And Pixar with its animation took storytelling to a horizon with color that delights me. I’m also a sucker for romantic comedies because I’ve been so unlucky in love. I love the product of creativity whether it’s on a screen or on a page. And I revere those who can take their story and make it everybody’s.

Janine: The theme of this issue of ecumininet™ online! is “Lent and Easter: Struggle and Surprise.” As I thought about this topic, and about the events of the life of Christ, I wondered at the feelings of the disciples. How did the disciples deal with their struggles during Holy Week and then their surprise at Easter? How had their lives and perspectives changed in that time and process?

Reframing this for yourself, can you share with us a time or an experience in life and faith where struggle and surprise went hand-in-hand?

Wendy: I think I just might be a poster child for struggle. It’s almost funny to list the last several years’ struggles/catastrophes: hysterectomy, five counts of wrongful death charges, divorce, my son almost losing his legs, my daughter and her broken neck, the death of my grandparents’ who I grew up next door to, my father losing his battle with cancer, my mother’s COPD and hospitalization. Depression, depression, depression; relocating (a.k.a. finding home after “the fall”), wondering if I should get a job that pays the power bill, teens being teens, flooded basements, toppled trees, and finally being hopeful about marriage again only to be dumped a few months after I proposed. I have a framed print by one of my bookshelves that says, “Happiest when it’s raining.” I remind myself everyday that it takes all kinds of weather to grow a true garden.

And I find grace where I least expect it. My son woke me up early Christmas morning. He’d saved all year to buy me a top of the line coffee maker, the kind with the bean grinder at the top. He’s only twelve and it was a very expensive coffee pot. It took most of his money that he’d gotten for his birthday the month before plus his savings. I don’t deserve such a gift, but that’s how grace is, isn’t it? Right now I’m sipping coffee poured from that very container, and I can’t tell you how sustaining it is.

Earlier, I was going to buy stuff to make my daughter’s birthday dinner. (She loves meatloaf of all things). I was thinking about these questions as I passed the cemetery on Hwy 150. I could see a man standing, head bowed at a grave. I caught my breath and turned. Across the street are massive car lots: rows and rows of shiny vehicles for sale. And here I am traveling, a little faster than the law allows I confess, between them. I suppose the struggle to figure out what really matters in the end, and the struggle to not get distracted by the lure and the shine of material along the way is something we navigate daily, especially in our country of plenty and waste. The disciples had given up their possessions by the time Jesus was captured, and though they struggled in different ways to remain faithful, they knew their heart’s direction.

Anne Lamotte writes of faith in a book that shoots straight through the heart of faith. Its title Traveling Mercies introduced me to a living, breathing, traveling disciple. She, nor I, can ever know all that the disciples faced as they found their way, but we, every last one of us, are travelers, too. It doesn’t matter how alike or different we are, how we pray or what words we choose to search for meaning, who is more right or more wrong, what holds for me are the mercies, great and small, that we give and that we receive.

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