I discovered Montana writer Sarah Walt Weaver’s work several years ago. As alums of St. Nell’s Humor Writing Residency, we found ourselves in the same graphic memoir drawing workshop. From her drafts in class, it was clear that Sarah had an important story to tell: one about her older sister, Melissa. When Sarah was 21, Melissa died in a plane crash.

The tragedy shaped Sarah’s world and eventually inspired her to write about the experiences of grieving through cartoons and hilarious, heartfelt musings. Her work highlights the struggle to stay alive in the aftermath of profound loss. Those stories comprise Tumbleweed: Funny Stories About Serious Situations. I spoke with Sarah over email to understand her approach to crafting humor in dark moments. Our conversation, like Sarah’s book, ranges from topics about grief, suicidal ideation, and diarrhea.

Emily Menez: Hi, Sarah. First of all, congratulations on the book! It’s been a privilege to witness your creative process over the years. You’ve been publishing excerpts of this story in The New York Times, McSweeney’s, and Slackjaw. How did you know it was time to thread these stories into a book?

Sarah Walt Weaver: Thank you! It’s so exciting to have this book out in the world. I’ve been working on Tumbleweed for over a decade. The book has taken a few different forms and titles. I began formally putting the book together in 2020, once I had enough stories to compile from my webcomics.

EM: There’s a theme echoing in this book about diaries — referring to the book itself as a diary of sorts, reading Melissa’s diary for a sense of closure, and sharing samples of your own childhood diary. I want to say, thank you for bravely sharing your Lisa Frank journal with a cover of dolphins humping. I noticed when it came to Melissa’s private writings, you kept the focus more on how reading her entries made you feel versus sharing specific passages. This felt like a respectful way to share her voice without exploiting it. How did you arrive at this narrative technique?

SWW: Ha! The dolphins are so funny and perfect.

While I’m fine embarrassing myself, Melissa’s privacy is really important to me. So is the privacy of all my family members and anyone else I write about. In my stories, I definitely try to keep the focus on me and my experience. Anything I wrote that might be considered private to Melissa I chose to share based on my past sisterhood with her. I remember our relationship; the things we talked about; what it felt like to be around her. I obviously can’t ask her what experiences she’d be OK with me sharing, but I can make a strong guess. Sometimes I would have imaginary conversations with her as I worked on stories — like we used to share a lot of laughs about our Catholic upbringing. I knew she’d be tickled with me adding a reference to that in the diary story.

Also, when I read Melissa’s diary, if I got to a part that felt overly personal, I skipped it or read it really really really fast. I think my behavior is charming and she’d approve — or at least roll her eyes at me.

EM: People generally know that we should reach out after someone has lost a loved one. Yet, most of us suck at comforting people. You talk about how unhelpful the phrase “If there’s anything I can do, let me know” feels in that it places the onus on the griever. Do you feel like you’ve gotten better about sitting with people in difficult moments?

SWW: I try, but I don’t always get it right. I’ve wondered over the years if we “get better” at grief. In many ways I feel like an expert. In other ways I feel lost trying to help. It’s tricky figuring out what someone else needs. Especially when they have a very different personality from me.

EM: What’s something people should know to do (or not do) in comforting someone following a death? Give us the PSA.

SWW: I believe a kind word or gesture goes a long way. Here are a few things other people did that helped me: attended Melissa’s funeral, wrote cards from the heart, listened and asked questions, brought flowers or meals (bonus points to those who found out favorite dishes/restaurants), offered to be open about their experiences of loss, and attempted to make me laugh — a risky joke, memes, silly care packages.

EM: Another “scary” topic you tackle is suicidal ideation. This is something many folks have experienced, including myself. I feel like it’s important for people to talk about it, (and know about free resources like the 988 Lifeline). Traditional wisdom tells us that writing about suicidal thoughts can’t or shouldn’t be funny. Yet, there are some darkly hilarious moments in those times. You beautifully capture that contrast. Was there ever a version of the book that didn’t include this section?

SWW: Thank you for telling me about your own experience, Emily. I feel really vulnerable about this section of the book. Tumbleweed always included the section about depression and suicidal thoughts. It felt important for me to include because I haven’t seen art like it before (girl convinced she’s going crazy, feels suicidal, doesn’t know how to get help). I take a lot of solace in art that deals with real-life situations. I wanted to tell this story in case my experience could help someone else.

The hardest stories in this book for me to write were about the plane crash and the section about suicidal thoughts. I had to figure out how to weave humor throughout while also respecting the gravity. There were many times I wanted to quit or got angry because nothing felt funny. I spent over a year on the plane crash story and another year on the section about suicidal thoughts. My stories only work for me once they have a lively feeling — a bit like a roller coaster. If I don’t feel that movement, I take time off, then go back to editing.

EM: Did the nature of writing about these thoughts and discussing them through your work change your relationship to those feelings?

SWW: Yes. Writing about the thoughts helped me compartmentalize them.

Once, I had a therapist suggest I keep a journal. I thought journaling seemed juvenile, and told her so. She explained that when we write about our life, we naturally craft stories. Crafting a story about our experiences can help us feel more in control.

EM: Part of the reason your writing is so effective is because you mix heavy topics all in the same sentences as talking about living with IBS. I love a well-crafted toilet story, so thank you for your service. Is this naturally how your brain works: mixing the silly and serious? Or, do you find you have to check in with early readers on balancing different tones?

SWW: Haha, thank you. My brain loooooooves tragedy and comedy. It’s thrilling to me when the pairing works, like when a song is a mix of upbeat and sad (such as Kygo’s “Freeze” or Third Eye Blind’s “Motorcycle Drive By”).

When I first started making comics ten years ago, I asked lots of people for feedback. Great in theory, but it also leads to many different opinions. Now, I have one primary editor: my husband Sterling. We’ve known each other for twenty years. He’s direct, generous, and also funny. Sterling helps me balance the different tones and pushes me to improve when something isn’t working.

EM: Because Melissa died in such a shocking way, there was no goodbye, no preparation for her loss. You write about dreaming about her as your brain’s way of trying to fill in missing information. Has writing about your mind’s search for closure provided any closure? Or, is closure a mirage we should all give up on? Asking for a friend.

SWW: Oh man, what a question. To me, closure means I’m no longer ruminating uncontrollably about the thing I need closure on. In that sense, I have closure with Melissa’s death. But, also not, because writing Tumbleweed has prolonged some of the sadness. I think the difference is: before, the thoughts about her were all-consuming. Now, I’m choosing to think about her instead of doing so uncontrollably.

EM: The stand-alone piece we just published of yours “The Snibbles Snowball” is an updated version of a piece you originally published with us in 2021. Did you always know you wanted to include certain essays when you were structuring the book?

SWW: Yes! I had fun outlining the book. I focused on stories that introduced my family and Snibbles, Melissa’s cat, in funny or interesting ways. I also tried to be thoughtful about the mix of serious stories and silly ones. It felt important to me that Tumbleweed never gets too emotionally heavy all at once or for too long.

EM: In the note to the reader, you say, “I feel there’s value in letting other people inside our vulnerabilities.” I agree with this sentiment, but I often see writers struggle to find the balance between something that’s too raw and something they’ve worked through in a safe and ultimately hilarious way. How did you know you were ready to write about these stories? And, do you have any advice for folks who are considering putting personal work like this out there?

SWW: I had an insatiable (insane? lol) drive. I couldn’t ignore the feeling until I finished. I wrote the section about suicidal thoughts in the middle of some of the experiences. I realized I needed time to pass before I could finish the story and stepped away from it.

My advice for people considering putting out personal work: DO IT. Be nice to yourself in the process. Take breaks. Breaks lead to breakthroughs — right there in the name. Move your body: dance, walk, cook a meal. Read/watch/listen to lots of art. Figure out what you’re drawn to, then mix that style into your work with your own fingerprint. For example, Allie Brosh’s Hyperbole and a Half had a big impact on me. Reading her comics helped me figure out how I wanted to structure mine. For those interested in comics, Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art is invaluable. He taught me about creating emotion through different “camera angles” and how to move readers through your panels to tell a compelling story.

EM: This story has been the chronicle of your young adulthood through the person you are today. When you finished the book, how did you feel?

SWW: AMAZING. Also: “Uh oh, what’s next?”

EM: What’s one thing you’d like writers to know when they’re starting the process of creating a book? What would you tell Sarah of years younger when she embarked on this project?

SWW: It’s a terrible/incredible experience.

I read once that the book you set out to write and the one you end up with will be different books. In my experience, that sentiment has been true, devastating, and also freeing.

EM: Once again, congratulations. I think you succeeded in creating something that will make people feel less alone. So as a final question, what’s a source of joy that was helpful to you during your darkest moments? Something that made you laugh, kept you going, or just made you feel less alone?

SWW: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Ricky Gervais’s After Life, Lil Dicky’s Dave, and Can’t Handle This (Kanye Rant) from Bo Burnham’s Make Happy (specifically, the final 5 minutes).

These shows do an excellent job showing terribly uncomfortable situations and breaking through the tension with humor. I think that laughing is an effective way to ease pain. At the end of my book, I reference a conversation I had with my uncle on the way to Melissa’s funeral. He made me laugh in a dark moment.

Comedy and tragedy. My favorite.

If you’re interested in reading Tumbleweed: Funny Stories About Serious Situations, please follow this link. Check out Sarah’s other writing on her site, Adventures with Vrah and follow her on Instagram.

For another one of my conversations with an artist, check out the link below:

Meet Greg Clarke, The Artist Behind This Iconic Movie Ratings Poster

Meet Sarah Walt Weaver, The Cartoonist Who’s Not Afraid To Talk About Grief was originally published in Slackjaw on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I never meant to lie. The suddenness of Melissa’s death left me unprepared for small talk, which happens inevitably in salons.

The words came out before I could stop them. Melissa used to live in Kalispell.

The words hung in the air.

Maybe not.

I don’t know the polite answer.

Imagine if I told the truth.

Imagine if I over-explained.

Alienating.

A few years later, I moved to Washington, D.C. for a job. Meeting new people gave me opportunities to improve my small talk.

Sometimes people asked questions about my siblings, which meant discussing Melissa.

How did I deal?

By playing dodgeball.

Before she died, Melissa adopted a cat named Snibbles. Melissa made a Facebook page for Snibbles, which she used to share cat memes and cat jokes with her friends.

A guy named Rolland was my first friend in D.C. He noticed my friendship with Snibbles on Facebook.

My parents adopted Snibbles when Melissa died.

Rolland didn’t know I had a sister who died. He didn’t know Snibbles originally belonged to Melissa and nobody had access to the Facebook page.

Probably because I lied about it.

I ignored the situation until my birthday, which I celebrated two weeks after I moved to D.C.

Admitting a lie about my dead sister’s cat seemed like I might return to zero friends.

I tried guessing the password.

Besides being my friend, Rolland and I worked together. He sat next to me in the office every day.

It felt really important to know the password because Snibbles was making me look like a dick.

I tried dodgeball.

It felt nice to blame Snibbles.

At some point in our friendship, Rolland learned about my sister and the plane crash she died in. I did not tell him Snibbles was her cat.

I told Rolland the truth four years later when we no longer lived in the same place or worked together.

It’s probably too late to come clean to the hairdresser.

Editor’s note: This is an updated version of a piece Sarah ran with us in 2021 ahead of her book release for Tumbleweed: Funny Stories about Serious Situations. For more information on ordering Tumbleweed, please check out Sarah’s website.

The Snibbles Snowball was originally published in Slackjaw on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Wednesday.

11 AM.

I sit at my desk. Editing the user instructions for the Turbochef 9500 High Speed Countertop Microwave Oven. Next to me, a canned latte is my only joy. Beneath the company name, in small letters, the label declares:

Real Coffee Drink

Until this moment, I hadn’t questioned that it was.

But then the doubts begin.

Immediately I think it must be implying that it is a real coffee drink, not a chemical masquerading as coffee. Truly bean essence.

Surely the solitary statement “coffee” would have implied that? Is real coffee more real than coffee? Wait, then what is coffee? And how much of it isn’t real?

Then I wonder, what if it means real “coffee” drink.

In case I might not believe it was truly a coffee drink.

That without the tagline, I might think that the can labelled “caramel latte” might actually be, secretly, soup.

Or a Magic Eye image of some dinosaurs.

Then I realize — why include … drink?

You had me at “real coffee.”

Before I saw “drink,” I wasn’t imagining the can was filled with real coffee buttered noodles.

Obviously it’s a drink.

Right?

What else are you sneaking into cans that you’re trying to distract me by loudly announcing it’s a drink?

The addition of “drink” makes me suspicious.

Imagine walking into a wedding reception and someone leans over, looks into your eyes, and says “Hi. I’m a real wedding guest.”

That person is an impostor wearing a skin suit.

What are you hiding, real coffee drink, what are you hiding?

It’s 3PM.

I have once again survived the mandatory Wellness Wednesday team-building activity: birdwatching.

Four crows.

Two ravens.

A common local goose. Not even a Canadian one.

I deserve a real coffee drink.

I crack the can.

Noodles.

Fooled again.

Don’t Talk To Me Until I’ve Had My Coffee Break(down) was originally published in Slackjaw on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Dear Vrbo owner: I see that check-in time is at 3 p.m., but we’ll be arriving at 8 a.m. even though we only live 45 minutes away. Can we check in early? If not, we’ll just wait in the driveway.

Ignore our atrocious rental history. Every host was a total IDIOT who tried to scam us and their rentals were total DUMPS. Can you approve us?

Do you have a car we can use, no extra fee? If it’s an electric car, can you charge it but not us?

Your listing says the house fits six. We’re a traveling circus with forty people, but we’re used to sharing a bed. We’ll also need outdoor space for the big top, and you should expect foot traffic. Can you accommodate me?

I have a small, black-haired, non-shedding, hypoallergenic wife who responds best to pastel paintings of beach chairs on Cape Cod. Can you replace the art in your rental?

We’re looking for a remote experience but we’re afraid of hardship. Can you ask your neighbors to leave for the week so that we feel alone but can still walk to get coffee?

We’re traveling with our 9-month-old baby. Can you provide a Pack ‘n Play, high chair, and babysitting while my husband and I spend the week at another Airbnb? The baby sleeps through the night if you hold him while doing air squats.

I’ve had insomnia for about eight months now and can only get to sleep if someone rubs my forearm with a very light touch for about 85 minutes. Is this something you provide?

It’s possible we’ll leave an unidentifiable stain on one rug, but the rug can be flipped around so the stain is under the couch. We’ll also make a big stink about you keeping our deposit and we’ll likely write a scathing review of your conduct and what we gleaned about your marriage, which will make you question doing this whole rental thing going forward. Does that work for you?

We may or may not be fugitives on the run. Might you have a well-appointed bunker with natural lighting (even though it’s underground) where we can hide for the next six months, and can you provide us new clothes, preferably poly-blend and not fast-fashion? Payment based on the success of our next heist.

The only way my teenage son will come with us on vacation is if we can replicate the hovel of a basement where he stays 22 hours of the day playing video games. I didn’t see this in your listing, but might you have something similar to the photo attached?

I was a largely absent father and my 13-year-old daughter has a right to be angry with me. Can your rental facilitate a weekend that repairs our relationship and curbs her smartphone addiction?

What’s your refund policy if we’re not feeling settled in by day five?

My boyfriend is supposed to propose to me in your hot tub, which is how I’ve always envisioned it. In repayment for not offering a burr coffee grinder, can you crouch down next to the hot tub and film the proposal, but look away if things get steamy?

I have an incontinence issue (I’m embracing it!), and it’s probably wise if you encase your furniture in plastic. Also, do you have a juicer?

Thank you for approving my rental request. What’s your social security number, mother’s maiden name, work schedule, and thoughts on Meghan and Harry? I’m not stealing your identity and ruining your life, just coming for some much-needed R&R.

We’re bringing our large, shedding, extremely allergenic dog even though you’re not pet friendly (shame on you). Can you install an electric fence before we arrive? We don’t want to have to tend to the dog in any way.

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Megan Tady is the author of Bluebird Day and Super Bloom. Instagram: @megtady

Can I Bring My Non-Shedding, Hypoallergenic Wife? was originally published in Slackjaw on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.