Osorio on our sister site Narratively Academy about what she’s learned about self-promotion after publishing her memoir, The Sound of Burning: A Mother, a Daughter, a Murder. Now, we’re bringing you an essay related to that book that offers a glimpse of what it often looks like behind the scenes of writing such a vulnerable memoir. **Plus, we’ll be doing a live video reading of this piece followed by a Q&A with Kristi on Wednesday, November 11, at 7 p.m. If you love this piece and want to hear Kristi read it out loud, or you have questions for her around it, please join us then via Substack Live!_ _Illustration by_**Jane Demarest** | _Story edited by_**Jesse Sposato** I started keeping a list of things the newspapers got wrong.
In one article, they spelled my name Christy instead of Kristi. In another, they referred to me as a 16-year-old even though I was only 15. In yet another, they said that the murder had happened in Mom’s room, not my grandma Betty’s.
What they got right were my pajamas, the Hello Kitty ones I’d worn to bed that night, before I knew what a scream really sounded like. _Woman stabs mother while two kids sleep down the hall,_ is what they reduced it to. After it happened, I never wanted to look at the articles. I knew they existed because after I stopped going to school, a friend told me some asshole from my art class had taped Mom’s mug shot up on my locker. _It was just a joke,_ I was assured.
Among the headlines were gems like: “Scene of Suspected Matricide” and “Mom Stabbed 20 Times.” Then, the following year, there was the image of my mother sitting at the defense table holding her head in her hands that haunted me for years. After the trial, there was the headline about her 15-year sentence, which, instead of using her name, simply referred to her as “Stabber.” When it was over, when she went to prison and the case was closed, there were no new articles. Reporters moved on to other crimes in the region, exploited other families for a good front-page story.
In college, two years after the murder, I started dating a boy who was in a band that was starting to take off online. I never told people about the murder, about Mom or Betty, especially not cute boys in cool bands. During winter break, we met for a virtual date on Skype, and he said a fun game would be to Google each other, see what came up.
I told him I didn’t want to, that it would probably be pointless and embarrassing if anything even showed up at all. I knew what he would see: the mug shot, the headlines, the “stabber.” _“_ Oh, um,” he said, when he’d obviously pulled up the results of the search. Actually, I have to go.”In my experience, that’s how people reacted when they found out something awful about you.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
