Kathleen Turner gets personal in new memoir

Editor's Note: This book excerpt contains profanities and may not be suitable for minors.

Veteran film and stage actress Kathleen Turner reveals much about herself — the breakup of her 20-year marriage, her close relationship with her daughter, her struggle with rheumatoid arthritis, and what it's like to work with legends like Jack Nicholson, Michael Douglas, William Hurt, Steve Martin, Francis Ford Coppola, John Huston and others — in her new memoir. Here's an excerpt from “Send Yourself Roses: Thoughts on My Life, Love, and Leading Roles”:

I am fucking exhausted. Wonderfully, joyfully exhausted, and filled with such extraordinary happiness and gratitude.

Those were my feelings after the two closing London performances of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? on May 13, 2006.

People ask, “How can you do that — two grueling three-and-a-half-hour performances one right after the other?” The four of us actors — Bill Irwin as George, Mireille Enos as Honey, David Harbour as Nick, and me as Martha — joked that it’s actually one six-act play on days when there are two shows, since we’re all on stage during most of the show. I liken the energy and the skill this takes to being an Olympic athlete. Which is quite a feat for someone whose feet have sacrificed most of their toe bones to rheumatoid arthritis. That’s why I padded around the stage in those funny soft little slippers.

I never feel tired when I’m onstage. Offstage before and after, I wonder how the hell I did it. But onstage, it just doesn’t happen. The exhaustion doesn’t hit me until the very, very end when I, or rather Martha, is on the floor and George asks, “Are you all right?” and Martha says, “Yes ...  No.” Then I can allow myself to feel the body pains, to feel the mental pain, to feel the heart pain, of the character.

There’s a moment in the curtain call after we’ve all taken the first bow together. Bill and I step back and Mireille and David take their bow. Then Bill and I step forward to take ours. The sound crescendos; it comes in this huge wave. It feels as though it pushes me back physically. It’s such an amazing feeling that it takes my breath away. And I just start to beam. I feel so grateful, so grateful, to us, to them, to me, to God, that we have this incredible experience in our lives. All of us: the audience, cast, and crew. Even the critics — everyone says it’s the first time the London theater critics have all agreed and given rave reviews to any play. The audiences jumped; they were on their feet applauding us almost every night. It has been a tremendous, absolutely amazing reward for the effort we have all put out and, yes, somewhat of a redemption for me.

I look out at the audience and return the waves of their love and appreciation with a full heart.

When I first read this play in college, I knew I wanted to play Martha someday. I was thrilled by Martha’s recklessness, how she has no thought of consequences. Like the way she slices through George, contrasting his inadequacies in sharpest detail to her own “necessary greater strength.” She’s dangerous as hell but also very exciting and rather endearing.

Or at least I was convinced I could make her endearing. Even back then, I was sure I had the skill to make audiences love the characters I played. Heavens, I was twenty, and I believed I could do anything and that Martha would be a fitting challenge for me when I turned fifty. I always kept this idea in my mind.

Fearlessness at twenty springs from not knowing what challenges lie ahead. Fearlessness at fifty comes from having wrestled with life’s challenges and learned from them.

Many challenges good and bad, steps I’ve deliberately planned or opportunistically seized, choices I’ve made, risks I’ve taken, came between the idea and the reality of playing Martha. Each of them helped to form me, to teach me, to prepare me.

The Right Moment to Tell My Story
People say to me all the time, “Oh, you’re such a regular person.” And I wonder, As opposed to what? An artificial construct?

Just before I left New York for the London run of Virginia, this book started — as many good things do — over tamales, jicama salad, and a margarita (light salt) at Zarela, a favorite Mexican restaurant. Gloria, who has been a good friend since we worked together at Planned Parenthood Federation of America — she as its president and CEO and I as chair of its Board of Advocates — said she wanted to write my biography. She told me I had a lot to say. I was rather embarrassed at first by the thought of that much emphasis on myself. It seemed too egotistical.

Then I thought about something I’d heard, that the object of our lives is the growth of our souls. And I feel that my soul is finally in a place where I can contribute. This particular moment in my life is a good time to take stock of all that. So I said I would like to be the practical, regular person that I am, and share my life lessons that might be of service to others. Finally we both figured out that I couldn’t share my lessons very well without telling my story too.

I feel about this book like I feel about my acting roles. Send Yourself Roses is my truth as I see it. But every story has many truths. Take from mine whatever you will.

I do have stories to tell, and I believe in the power of sharing them. Many come from my film and stage work. I’ll explore how my roles have broken new ground for women, how they’ve spanned sexuality from a femme fatale to a woman playing a man playing a woman. I want to share my passion for service. And I’ve had personal tragedies, rocky relationships, out-of-control drinking, and snarky critics to contend with. I’ve come back against all odds from a debilitating illness and being told I’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, to which I said, “Go fuck yourself.” I’ve experienced the joy of motherhood and the sadness of infertility, a happy marriage that eventually became a necessary separation. I’ve learned from it all.

But what you know isn’t enough, babe: what counts is how you use it going forward.

I like where I am now and what I have achieved. I’m doing the best work of my life. I can see all that has come before: the obstacles overcome, the risks I’ve taken, the choices I’ve made, the great, great opportunities I’ve had, and the lessons about life, love, and leading roles that these experiences have taught me.

I don’t want to be twenty again. I’m having that creative surge women often get when we pass fifty. I feel at the top of my personal and professional life.

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