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Growgirl
The star of the international cult sensation The Blair Witch Project shares the high points of living on a marijuana farm post- Hollywood. At age thirty-four, Heather Donahue's life went to pot. Literally. After starring in The Blair Witch Project -the tiny indie film- turned-blockbuster that Roger Ebert named one of the ten Most Influential Movies of the Century-she became a household name. But the afterglow of the movie waned, her acting career stalled, and she feared the day her epitaph would read, "Here Lies the Girl from The Blair Witch Project ." Determined to start a new life, she left most remnants of the old one in the desert, meditated on things for a few days, then followed her brand-new boyfriend to her brand-new life- growing pot. Growgirl is Heather's year living in Nuggettown, California, among "The Community"-a collection of growers, their "pot wives," and the reason for it "The Girls." They help one another build grow rooms, tend to their crops, and provide a glimpse into this rarely seen world that's currently the source of much intrigue and discussion. Though her relationship hits rocky territory, Heather's new life brings unexpected solace, and she's surprised to finally find normalcy in the least likely of places.
304 pages, Hardcover
First published January 5, 2012
17 people are currently reading
382 people want to read
About the author
Heather Donahue
5 books21 followersHeather Donahue is an American writer and actress who first came to public attention after appearing as the lead character in Haxan Films' 1999 horror film The Blair Witch Project. Following the success of the film, she went on to appear in an array of independent films, as well as guest appearances on several television shows, most notably for her starring role in the science fiction miniseries Taken and a guest appearance on the sitcom It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
In 2011, Donahue signed a publishing deal for her debut book GROWGIRL, about her time as a medical marijuana grower.
In 2011, Donahue signed a publishing deal for her debut book GROWGIRL, about her time as a medical marijuana grower.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 61 reviews
May 19, 2017
When Growgirl was released, in 2012, I'd been waiting since its announcement -- with fairly fanatical impatience. It arrived from Amazon a day early, and I was voracious: consume-in-a-single-night style, you know, cause that's what happens when your favourite actress releases a book. Particularly when said actress has stopped acting and kinda fallen off the face of the earth -- GIVE IT HERE.
So, in retrospect: I read it like fire, and when it was all burned out -- I felt really fucking weird. There are things that you don't necessarily want to know about the people you idolize, right -- like, I totally didn't need to know about her bodily functions, amirite? She's so, like, confused and that's not like, what I pictured, you know? I couldn't review the book, not because I didn't like it -- I did, objectively; it was great. But I kind of wanted to forget about it and go back to my idealized, sanitized, fictionalized version of a person who, quite clearly, was anything but ideal, sanitary, and fictional.
I was 25.
I was set in my life.
I wanted things to be exactly the way they'd always been.
And I had no fucking idea.
It's been a few years; I've lived through a few crises. Freshly 31, I'm headed to the proverbial desert to burn my shit: nothing so dramatic as Heather Donahue's bonfire, but I have a lot to lose and my gains are uncertain. Trusting possibility in your 30s is a lot fucking harder than it seems in your mid-20s ---- and so, before all this becomes official, as royal green spring blooms on Montreal streets, my copy of Growgirl caught my eye. I devoured it, again -- but so differently, because I finally saw it for what it was: 300 pages of brutal, unfettered, absolutely goddamn brilliant & aesthetically beautiful honesty.
This woman shies from nothing. Don't like it? Too bad. "I will probably always be too much," she writes. "Instead of fighting it, I'm learning to live with it." That raw intensity permeates every last word of this book, from the self-deprecating digs to the sarcastic observations; the gorgeous turns of phrase to the easy profanity; the quick cuts between moments and the lingering glances at what might have been. Heather Donahue writes like a prism: clear, fractured, exploding in colour and stunningly beautiful -- but so bright you might go fucking blind.
If you manage to keep your eyesight, here's what's waiting:
- language you want to lick.
- moments of truth so awkward and genuine she must be reading your mind.
- deeply real emotion -- fear, and desire, and passion and rage, and oh so much quiet, desperate hope.
- unfiltered relationship drama, alongside all those comments you wish you could make about those exclusive communities that pop up around what is unequivocally inclusive.
- seriously damn profound social/personal/philosophical insight, for someone you probably only know from a 90s horror film -- but she's been dropping this for years, guys; you just weren't paying attention.
- feminism (and femininity) that isn't angry or specific, but funny, and real, and grateful.
- some info about growing pot (because yeah, that's kind of what this book's about, but only kind of).
- and the feeling like a hand is reaching out to beckon -- not to hold yours; you get no guide, babe, we know jackshit out here ----- but to remind you that there is so much more than what you might be holding to out of fear. Let go, be free: what comes may leave you in the red, but you'll be a goddam rainbow.
- "I fear neither frost nor bear this morning because it's April and, despite my sketchy start, I will bring the spring."
I think we fear rawness, these days. We want everything tied up neatly, aesthetically pleasing, perfectly presented. Sanitized. Idealized. Fictionalized. We want what we can't possibly have, because we are messy, and broken, and real. And that reminder, shoved back in your face, can be so terrifying you want to ignore it. That's the only explanation I can think of for why Heather Donahue does not have publishers begging her for what comes next: she hits too hard, too deep, too profoundly. If it's not the right moment, it sticks, wounds, hurts.
And good.
Sticky, bloody, and hurt, darling, let's burn the past into a supernova.
And there is no one, but no one, who has captured it better.
Heather Donahue, in the 14 years since I first saw her onscreen, has shifted miles from her original title of "my favourite actress." What she has produced, in roles and in words, means more to me than I can ever express. Maybe, if any of this strikes a chord -- go see what she'll mean to you.
So, in retrospect: I read it like fire, and when it was all burned out -- I felt really fucking weird. There are things that you don't necessarily want to know about the people you idolize, right -- like, I totally didn't need to know about her bodily functions, amirite? She's so, like, confused and that's not like, what I pictured, you know? I couldn't review the book, not because I didn't like it -- I did, objectively; it was great. But I kind of wanted to forget about it and go back to my idealized, sanitized, fictionalized version of a person who, quite clearly, was anything but ideal, sanitary, and fictional.
I was 25.
I was set in my life.
I wanted things to be exactly the way they'd always been.
And I had no fucking idea.
It's been a few years; I've lived through a few crises. Freshly 31, I'm headed to the proverbial desert to burn my shit: nothing so dramatic as Heather Donahue's bonfire, but I have a lot to lose and my gains are uncertain. Trusting possibility in your 30s is a lot fucking harder than it seems in your mid-20s ---- and so, before all this becomes official, as royal green spring blooms on Montreal streets, my copy of Growgirl caught my eye. I devoured it, again -- but so differently, because I finally saw it for what it was: 300 pages of brutal, unfettered, absolutely goddamn brilliant & aesthetically beautiful honesty.
This woman shies from nothing. Don't like it? Too bad. "I will probably always be too much," she writes. "Instead of fighting it, I'm learning to live with it." That raw intensity permeates every last word of this book, from the self-deprecating digs to the sarcastic observations; the gorgeous turns of phrase to the easy profanity; the quick cuts between moments and the lingering glances at what might have been. Heather Donahue writes like a prism: clear, fractured, exploding in colour and stunningly beautiful -- but so bright you might go fucking blind.
If you manage to keep your eyesight, here's what's waiting:
- language you want to lick.
- moments of truth so awkward and genuine she must be reading your mind.
- deeply real emotion -- fear, and desire, and passion and rage, and oh so much quiet, desperate hope.
- unfiltered relationship drama, alongside all those comments you wish you could make about those exclusive communities that pop up around what is unequivocally inclusive.
- seriously damn profound social/personal/philosophical insight, for someone you probably only know from a 90s horror film -- but she's been dropping this for years, guys; you just weren't paying attention.
- feminism (and femininity) that isn't angry or specific, but funny, and real, and grateful.
- some info about growing pot (because yeah, that's kind of what this book's about, but only kind of).
- and the feeling like a hand is reaching out to beckon -- not to hold yours; you get no guide, babe, we know jackshit out here ----- but to remind you that there is so much more than what you might be holding to out of fear. Let go, be free: what comes may leave you in the red, but you'll be a goddam rainbow.
- "I fear neither frost nor bear this morning because it's April and, despite my sketchy start, I will bring the spring."
I think we fear rawness, these days. We want everything tied up neatly, aesthetically pleasing, perfectly presented. Sanitized. Idealized. Fictionalized. We want what we can't possibly have, because we are messy, and broken, and real. And that reminder, shoved back in your face, can be so terrifying you want to ignore it. That's the only explanation I can think of for why Heather Donahue does not have publishers begging her for what comes next: she hits too hard, too deep, too profoundly. If it's not the right moment, it sticks, wounds, hurts.
And good.
Sticky, bloody, and hurt, darling, let's burn the past into a supernova.
And there is no one, but no one, who has captured it better.
Heather Donahue, in the 14 years since I first saw her onscreen, has shifted miles from her original title of "my favourite actress." What she has produced, in roles and in words, means more to me than I can ever express. Maybe, if any of this strikes a chord -- go see what she'll mean to you.
January 17, 2012
The last time you saw Heather Donahue she had a camera pointed up her nostrils, flared and leaking, and she was delivering her “Goodbye cruel world!” speech in one of the final scenes of “The Blair Witch Project.”
In the decade plus since that movie she has had a few roles here and there -- nothing she wants to brag about -- but most notably spent time in northern California growing weed. Her memoir “Growgirl: How My Life After ‘The Blair Witch Project’ Went to Pot” is a years-worth of planting, trimming, romantic frustrations, starting a band and living in the hippie-dippy community of fellow growers who unflinchingly use the word “Goddess” in casual convos.
For a reader whose only background with the weed-growing industry is limited to how cute Mary Louise Parker is with her flippy skirts and empty Starbucks cup, Donahue’s actual details of planting, tending, encouraging, cloning, killing mites and trimming are a little bit like white noise. But the rest of it, oh lo the rest of it, is a good old fashioned laugh riot.
Donahue is at a getaway retreat, fresh from burning the keepsakes of a long relationship, when she meets Judah, falls for him, and then ultimately moves to Nuggettown where he is a grower. She’s enough into this sudden love to leave Los Angeles, but wary enough of relationships to eschew the patterns set by the women who have come before her: Fall in love, move in, raise grow boy’s child part time while maintaining a friendly relationship with grow boy’s ex and anyone new she brings to the table, never get married, prepare to be replaced.
Donahue does it on her terms. She sets up her own shop at the end of a long road. She starts her own little farm including a garden with traditional foods like tomatoes and kale, chickens and a puppy. Meanwhile she’s taken on some small time weed growing inside the house and in the garage as well as a small patch in the garden. She’s not going to be Judah’s “Grow Wife,” the term for the women whose version of feminism involves the ultimate in home cooked domestication. She’s going to be a Grow Girl, pretty much independent, save for the pot tutors who help her with newbie grower issues. Wise move. Things with Judah last about five more minutes, an ending she telegraphs when he pops a bone dog while admiring her naked friend during hot tub time. (People are frequently naked and frequently in hot tubs in Nuggettown).
Donahue might not have been able to convince directors she was more than an improv artist in the post-Blair Witch job hunt. But she is so funny, self-deprecating and likable -- even when your stomach sinks and you think “Oh no, Heather. Don’t do that. Please don’t do that. Oh, Heather. You did that” -- and it all makes for fun writing and storytelling. Consider an early scene, when she meets up with Judah at the hot springs.
“When we arrived at the hot springs, I dipped into a pinkish layer of awkward on discovering that it was clothing-optional. I dipped into a pinker layer of awkward when in the undressing room I discovered a tit whisker under my left nipple. I tried to yank the hair with my fingernails. It curled like the ribbon on a birthday gift, or a pube.”
And so it goes. A year’s worth of versions of that, pitted with new life blisters and the paranoia of breaking a federal law. Totally entertaining.
In the decade plus since that movie she has had a few roles here and there -- nothing she wants to brag about -- but most notably spent time in northern California growing weed. Her memoir “Growgirl: How My Life After ‘The Blair Witch Project’ Went to Pot” is a years-worth of planting, trimming, romantic frustrations, starting a band and living in the hippie-dippy community of fellow growers who unflinchingly use the word “Goddess” in casual convos.
For a reader whose only background with the weed-growing industry is limited to how cute Mary Louise Parker is with her flippy skirts and empty Starbucks cup, Donahue’s actual details of planting, tending, encouraging, cloning, killing mites and trimming are a little bit like white noise. But the rest of it, oh lo the rest of it, is a good old fashioned laugh riot.
Donahue is at a getaway retreat, fresh from burning the keepsakes of a long relationship, when she meets Judah, falls for him, and then ultimately moves to Nuggettown where he is a grower. She’s enough into this sudden love to leave Los Angeles, but wary enough of relationships to eschew the patterns set by the women who have come before her: Fall in love, move in, raise grow boy’s child part time while maintaining a friendly relationship with grow boy’s ex and anyone new she brings to the table, never get married, prepare to be replaced.
Donahue does it on her terms. She sets up her own shop at the end of a long road. She starts her own little farm including a garden with traditional foods like tomatoes and kale, chickens and a puppy. Meanwhile she’s taken on some small time weed growing inside the house and in the garage as well as a small patch in the garden. She’s not going to be Judah’s “Grow Wife,” the term for the women whose version of feminism involves the ultimate in home cooked domestication. She’s going to be a Grow Girl, pretty much independent, save for the pot tutors who help her with newbie grower issues. Wise move. Things with Judah last about five more minutes, an ending she telegraphs when he pops a bone dog while admiring her naked friend during hot tub time. (People are frequently naked and frequently in hot tubs in Nuggettown).
Donahue might not have been able to convince directors she was more than an improv artist in the post-Blair Witch job hunt. But she is so funny, self-deprecating and likable -- even when your stomach sinks and you think “Oh no, Heather. Don’t do that. Please don’t do that. Oh, Heather. You did that” -- and it all makes for fun writing and storytelling. Consider an early scene, when she meets up with Judah at the hot springs.
“When we arrived at the hot springs, I dipped into a pinkish layer of awkward on discovering that it was clothing-optional. I dipped into a pinker layer of awkward when in the undressing room I discovered a tit whisker under my left nipple. I tried to yank the hair with my fingernails. It curled like the ribbon on a birthday gift, or a pube.”
And so it goes. A year’s worth of versions of that, pitted with new life blisters and the paranoia of breaking a federal law. Totally entertaining.
February 21, 2017
My bookmark of choice (or maybe convenience, I like, don't care to decide) for this book was a literal Meowth Pokémon card. It occured to me as I was tearing through the last few segments (getting through quickly as well as having a constant swell of tears) that this random bookmark is super fitting for my read of Growgirl because Meowth is the only Pokémon that talks. I don't know if I would draw any more similarities than that between Heather Donahue and this fictional (?) bipedal cat-like [insert conspiracy theory about the origin of Pokémon here] but oh man. This book is honest. Heather Donahue talks and speaks about herself, her choices, the people that surround her with a self awareness that made me breathe a sigh of relief. It's like she writes that voice in the back of our heads that everyone has but no one is brave enough to admit to. Super relatable. Super entertaining. And super fascinating.
So please. If you're reading this review, do yourself a favour and just like. Read this book. There is some weird force field around Heather Donahue that keeps preventing wide spread appreciation of her work so just like. Break through. Use your Pokémon powers. Enjoy a display of humanity. This book is stressful and comforting and frustrating and satisfying. And I think that it came to me at the exact perfect time.
P.S. I do suppose I lied when I said that Meowth is the only Pokémon who talks because although I haven't seen MOST of Pokémon, I have seen that movie with Mew II in it and like, he talks too. I'm sure there's something to be said about the link between Mew II and Heather's clones though... No one steal that! Comparison essay upcoming.
So please. If you're reading this review, do yourself a favour and just like. Read this book. There is some weird force field around Heather Donahue that keeps preventing wide spread appreciation of her work so just like. Break through. Use your Pokémon powers. Enjoy a display of humanity. This book is stressful and comforting and frustrating and satisfying. And I think that it came to me at the exact perfect time.
P.S. I do suppose I lied when I said that Meowth is the only Pokémon who talks because although I haven't seen MOST of Pokémon, I have seen that movie with Mew II in it and like, he talks too. I'm sure there's something to be said about the link between Mew II and Heather's clones though... No one steal that! Comparison essay upcoming.
May 22, 2022
So whatever happened to the woman who starred in the "Blair Witch Project" movie? She acted in a few things back in the Aughts, as I recall, but then what? If you are curious, then this book provides a few answers. It covers a couple of years of her life in the 2008-2010 time frame, or thereabouts, right after she closed the books on a sputtering Hollywood career (or maybe Hollywood closed the books on her, or maybe the book-closing was mutual), and launched off into a new phase: NorCal medical marijuana rancher. By her own admission, Ms. Donahue is flighty and impulsive and in-the-moment, and this is demonstrated in spades when she meets a guy at a meditation retreat and follows him to "Nuggettown" (name changed to protect the innocent), a small community in Northern California where a significant fraction of the populace grow dope for California's burgeoning medical marijuana industry. She plunges headfirst into a semi-secret, semi-legal society of ganja-ranching semi-outlaws who have their own post-hippie-enlightenment societal norms and lingo. They grow the stuff in their houses, where rooms and garages have been refit with specialized fittings and equipment to marshal the plants through their growth phases to maturity and harvest in what amounts to an industrial process. After deciding the role of "pot wife" is not for her, she breaks up with the boyfriend and then this self-proclaimed "city girl" gets her own place to try her hand at raising the wacky weed solo for a year. The minutiae of the "cannabiz" of growing marijuana for maximum yield and profit is covered, along with anecdotes about acquiring a puppy, singing for an all-girl band, raising chickens, navigating the shaky legal underpinnings of medical marijuana "prescriptions", making a trip to Burning Man, and having a run-in with a minor-league drug gangster. All of this is related in a stream-of-consciousness fashion and a self-deprecating and mostly humorous tone. I am a sucker for this kind of riches to rags, where-are-they-now story, and this one is no worse and actually much better than many I have read. Four out of five stars.
August 4, 2013
I'm probably more of a 3.5. The writing is quality and smart and funny and I want to give it a 4, but I hate that the author's life centers around whether she has a man in it or not. I really wanted her to be okay on her own, to figure out her life on her own, without having to have a man to solve her problems. It makes me sad. I think this has something to do with how I feel about being a woman in my 30s and also feeling like I can't be okay on my own. I just want us to be okay, you know? WE ARE OKAY.
I give her props for being a brave, kickass woman. I just wish this brave, kickass woman could have found her way without a man being the end-all, be-all.
I give her props for being a brave, kickass woman. I just wish this brave, kickass woman could have found her way without a man being the end-all, be-all.
October 9, 2025
This book was captivating and bad at the same time. I didn't realize -- but should've -- that it's simply Heather Donahue's erotic memoirs. Really quite strange. I read it in two days.
January 27, 2020
A review in a newspaper, quoting the author’s hilarious prose, drew me in to read this book; I knew not one thing about Blair Witch Project (still really don't!), nor much at all regarding pot growers. Her perceptive hilarity kept me going through the first few chapters, in which the writing was a bit choppy & confusing with several non-sequiturs. It improved quite a bit after the first quarter or so, (thankfully), which almost gave me the feeling that her editor began at the end, working backwards, and gave up a little too early.
However, I LOVED this book. Donahue's wisdom and hard-earned grace touched me and permeated through me, long after I finished the book. I was unprepared for the increasing tenderness and depth that laced her clever, breezy, interesting way of writing as the book ensued.
There IS a fair amount of technical pot-growing information, which I'm sure makes this book more interesting to those who "get it," and perhaps not wonderful for some readers. But I skimmed those details a bit when they made my head spin, and in those sections I just read for the insight and awareness of what she went through in this story of grit, loss, humor, love, and grace.
I recommended this book to everyone! Two friends immediately got on board. I am glad to give her some brand new fans. A wonderful read, in my opinion!
However, I LOVED this book. Donahue's wisdom and hard-earned grace touched me and permeated through me, long after I finished the book. I was unprepared for the increasing tenderness and depth that laced her clever, breezy, interesting way of writing as the book ensued.
There IS a fair amount of technical pot-growing information, which I'm sure makes this book more interesting to those who "get it," and perhaps not wonderful for some readers. But I skimmed those details a bit when they made my head spin, and in those sections I just read for the insight and awareness of what she went through in this story of grit, loss, humor, love, and grace.
I recommended this book to everyone! Two friends immediately got on board. I am glad to give her some brand new fans. A wonderful read, in my opinion!
January 15, 2012
This is not you're typical celebrity memoir. This is the anti-celebrity memoir. Her story could have gone so many different ways after the Hollywood fires died out but she took her fate in her own hands and made a choice to leave it all behind and start anew. I loved that she had the bravery to do that and not pursue something half-heartedly but to dive in and fully educate herself in a brand new (in not illegal) way. Just by reading you can tell that she is smart and resourceful with a keen sense of humor. Biting at times. But just when you think she is just that, she goes ahead and turns a beautiful passage and finds a depth that suits her.
This is her first endeavor into writing and she nailed an intelligent, unromantic, humorous game changing story. And while it takes a closer look into medicinal pot farming, it is about so much more. It is about facing fears, tangible fears. It is about growth in the face of adversity, even if it is self-inflicted. It is about letting go so that your can move forward, even if that path is a dirt road that leads to lonely house in the woods.
This is her first endeavor into writing and she nailed an intelligent, unromantic, humorous game changing story. And while it takes a closer look into medicinal pot farming, it is about so much more. It is about facing fears, tangible fears. It is about growth in the face of adversity, even if it is self-inflicted. It is about letting go so that your can move forward, even if that path is a dirt road that leads to lonely house in the woods.
March 17, 2012
An enjoyable, easy-to-read trifle -- but not quite as awesome as I was hoping. I wanted to like Heather more than I did, and she used herself as the butt of the jokes so many times that after a while I couldn't tell if she was just being self-deprecating or whether she really was as incompatent and aimless as she kept joking she was.
That said, I really enjoyed the descriptions of these pockets of west coast weirdo that I know so well. The northern californian glamourhippies, the burning man crew, the preposterous Gen Y hippie girls and oh man. SO many hilarious slices of stupidity I know so well. I totally loved Heather's affectionate jabs at people.
I enjoyed this book and recommended it to several friends who are also familiar with the whole grow scene in california.
That said, I really enjoyed the descriptions of these pockets of west coast weirdo that I know so well. The northern californian glamourhippies, the burning man crew, the preposterous Gen Y hippie girls and oh man. SO many hilarious slices of stupidity I know so well. I totally loved Heather's affectionate jabs at people.
I enjoyed this book and recommended it to several friends who are also familiar with the whole grow scene in california.
June 4, 2012
This one nearly succumbed to my 40 page rule (author has 40 pages to get and keep my attention before I call it off) owing to the author's tendency to write like she was a high school sophomore in a poetry/creative writing class. There was just enough good in with the cringe-worthy to keep me going though.
In the end, it was an enjoyable and quick read. There was no radical self-transformation, nor is the book a how-to on pot-growing (though she did teach some lingo and for aspiring gardeners it may be enough to at least start asking the right questions), but a story about a year in her life in which she learned a little more about herself.
In the end, it was an enjoyable and quick read. There was no radical self-transformation, nor is the book a how-to on pot-growing (though she did teach some lingo and for aspiring gardeners it may be enough to at least start asking the right questions), but a story about a year in her life in which she learned a little more about herself.
March 12, 2012
sigh. how many epigrams does a book need? i say one. i also don't think a this book needs a table of contents or chapter headings...or subchapter headings or pages repeatedly given over to a repeating woodblock print. this whole thing just seemed sort of amateurish and padded which is a shame because it's an interesting subject.
February 8, 2012
I guess there's a chance that this book may have suddenly improved after 120 pages, but I decided not to put my chips on that. I found this book to be pretty weird and boring. Heather is a little bit whiny and unlikable.
August 1, 2012
I think it's well written, and all that, but about half-way through, I realized I really don't give a crap about marijuana, or how it's grown, or the kind of gross hippie communities that do it. And ultimately, I think she feels the same way....
December 21, 2015
A pleasant memoir of an actress/hippy chick who runs away from an unpromising Hollywood career to grow medical marijuana. Considering she nothing about the plant, her pot knowledge is quite impressive. Relationship foibles and funny stories about her fellow farmers keep the story moving. Good Read!
June 1, 2012
This book takes place in my small town, and it was fun trying to figure out who I knew in the book. If it weren't for this, I might have just given it 2 stars. Definitely a fun read for locals.
November 11, 2018
This book is far more eloquent and well written than I initially anticipated. I went in expecting another trite, has-been celebrity memoir and what I got was closer to the adult version of the Tao of Poo.
Heather Donahue’s tongue in cheek humour and relatability make this a quick and humorous read. Her commentary about the sexist and elitist undertones of grow culture are timely, poignant and applicable to society at large. This book left me with a feeling of solidarity and a deep sense of zen. I would recommend this book to anyone who is knowingly on the long road to sufferance.
Heather Donahue’s tongue in cheek humour and relatability make this a quick and humorous read. Her commentary about the sexist and elitist undertones of grow culture are timely, poignant and applicable to society at large. This book left me with a feeling of solidarity and a deep sense of zen. I would recommend this book to anyone who is knowingly on the long road to sufferance.
April 13, 2021
Moderately entertaining memoir, you really get to know & like Heather, but the figuring-it-all-out aspect of the story wore me out like a double dose of hash brownies after a while and I struggled to plow through Heather's trials and travails learning how to integrate into a pot-growing community and get her mojo back...
June 1, 2022
Enjoyable “light” read, loved her prose but began to lose interest in the story midway through. Pushed on through. Recommended as one to leaf through while simultaneously people watching on the beach.🤘🏻
June 30, 2017
I loved this book, I couldn't put it down. I particularly enjoyed her voice and her realness.
November 27, 2018
I was impressed. At first I wasn't sure if I was going to like the book but Heather grew on me, great story!
July 28, 2012
When I heard of this book, it sounded like the real-life counterpart of Weeds: Donahue, an actress in career free-fall after a successful movie failed to result in a viable career, decides that raising pot sounds like a viable make-ends-meet option, and makes other highly questionable choices; some whacky and some racy stuff ensues.
In broad strokes that's more-or-less accurate but almost completely misses the point, and misses the three things that I thought were really good about this memoir.
First, there's the byzantine complexity both of California's medical marijuana laws and actually growing the plants. There's considerable detail about both, but Donahue never explains either in a very linear fashion; she reveals relevant details as she's jumping through the particular hoops of the processes. If you're as ignorant about both as I am -- and I was pretty ignorant, I was unclear on what part of the plant turns into the stuff that gets smoked -- piecing it all together has the sort of mental puzzle appeal I associate with much good sci-fi: how does this universe work exactly? Geez, that's bizarre! But I can see how it's barely plausible. (The legality side, in particular, has so much deep baked-in weirdness that it's really hard to believe.)
Second, there's Donahue's own ambivalence about what she's doing. From the outset she considers her new lifestyle a trial run, a one year experiment to see if "pot farmer" is her destiny, or a way point. She's only partly accepted by the in-caps Community that comes along with her new boyfriend and new homestead, and crucially, the more accepted she gets, the more she does things to challenge that acceptance. And her perspective remains that of an outsider throughout. Donahue is kinda new-agey by my standards, but when she uses the word "hippie" it's not a compliment. Her general mild, but consistent, snark about her business associates and supposed peers might be a little wearing, in fact, if not for the third good thing about her book.
Most importantly, she writes like an author who once did some acting, not like an actor/ghost-writer pair manufacturing a book. Donahue's prose is vivid and impressionistic. Some of the druggier bits seemed slightly addled, but on the other hand, the book actually enriched my vocabulary a little bit. ("Vellicate," a word that turns out to have quite an interesting history, was my favorite addition.) The good writing carried me through a few bits where her borderline hypocrisy was irksome, or where I was impatient for Donahue to make the decision she was waffling about.
In broad strokes that's more-or-less accurate but almost completely misses the point, and misses the three things that I thought were really good about this memoir.
First, there's the byzantine complexity both of California's medical marijuana laws and actually growing the plants. There's considerable detail about both, but Donahue never explains either in a very linear fashion; she reveals relevant details as she's jumping through the particular hoops of the processes. If you're as ignorant about both as I am -- and I was pretty ignorant, I was unclear on what part of the plant turns into the stuff that gets smoked -- piecing it all together has the sort of mental puzzle appeal I associate with much good sci-fi: how does this universe work exactly? Geez, that's bizarre! But I can see how it's barely plausible. (The legality side, in particular, has so much deep baked-in weirdness that it's really hard to believe.)
Second, there's Donahue's own ambivalence about what she's doing. From the outset she considers her new lifestyle a trial run, a one year experiment to see if "pot farmer" is her destiny, or a way point. She's only partly accepted by the in-caps Community that comes along with her new boyfriend and new homestead, and crucially, the more accepted she gets, the more she does things to challenge that acceptance. And her perspective remains that of an outsider throughout. Donahue is kinda new-agey by my standards, but when she uses the word "hippie" it's not a compliment. Her general mild, but consistent, snark about her business associates and supposed peers might be a little wearing, in fact, if not for the third good thing about her book.
Most importantly, she writes like an author who once did some acting, not like an actor/ghost-writer pair manufacturing a book. Donahue's prose is vivid and impressionistic. Some of the druggier bits seemed slightly addled, but on the other hand, the book actually enriched my vocabulary a little bit. ("Vellicate," a word that turns out to have quite an interesting history, was my favorite addition.) The good writing carried me through a few bits where her borderline hypocrisy was irksome, or where I was impatient for Donahue to make the decision she was waffling about.
June 10, 2013
I LOVED THIS BOOK!!!!! Seriously, I have it in print and I am about to buy it on kindle so I can search for my favorite parts whenever I want to.
When I started it I didn't know what to expect. And in the interest of full disclosure, I never saw Blair Witch but I did smoke a lot of pot. I felt like this book put into perspective a ton of my life events, and combined with Heather's honesty and introspection, I read this book twice in a row, and still-- 4 months later, can recall with stunning clarity a TON of the parts that I loved:
(I don't have the book with me now, so I'm gonna do my best to remember here.)
1. The Tit Hair. Oh. My. God. I freaking loved that part. Heather, I think of you often now when I get in the shower. Sorry, but it is what it is.
2. The Pot Wife. I know of the title, but the description here was perfection. I have officially added it to my resume as past job experiences.
3. The in depth analysis of hugging and the sub-culture. The lean-into, the shuffle and rocking, all of it was spot on.
4. The shirt that was a square with strings-- at first I had to reread it, and then though oh yeah-- I had a ton of those! (My boobs have since paid the price, but, aahhhhh, the happy memories.)
5. The grow room. It seems there has been some criticism of the specifics in other reviews, and the thought that they weren't necessary. But girl, I hear you. Without them the community never would have bought into it. Plus, the smell of fish poop lingered in my subconscious throughout the entire book. It was a bit uninteresting as those things go, but I totally get it, and it was necessary.
6. The $20 pancakes. Amen!
There is more, a ton more, but I am at Starbucks (damn the man!) and getting the evil eye for my inappropriate laughing (I am alone), so I may add more later. Just overall I LOVED IT!
Naked hot tubbing. Burning Man. Clones. Dogs. SF. Thousie's. Kangol coolness for male-pattern-balding. All real and raw, and so glad to have read it. I am a little shocked there weren't as many dreadlocks as I would have thought, but then again I was on the East Coast where everyone tried a little bit harder. ;) I would give this book 10 stars, and look forward to somehow, someday, getting my Tweezers autographed (think Tit Hair). I live in the East Bay, living the life of a "Single Mom-a" vs. a Pot Wife Mama... look me up, I will be first in line if you ever have more book signings. And I'm serious about the tweezers...
When I started it I didn't know what to expect. And in the interest of full disclosure, I never saw Blair Witch but I did smoke a lot of pot. I felt like this book put into perspective a ton of my life events, and combined with Heather's honesty and introspection, I read this book twice in a row, and still-- 4 months later, can recall with stunning clarity a TON of the parts that I loved:
(I don't have the book with me now, so I'm gonna do my best to remember here.)
1. The Tit Hair. Oh. My. God. I freaking loved that part. Heather, I think of you often now when I get in the shower. Sorry, but it is what it is.
2. The Pot Wife. I know of the title, but the description here was perfection. I have officially added it to my resume as past job experiences.
3. The in depth analysis of hugging and the sub-culture. The lean-into, the shuffle and rocking, all of it was spot on.
4. The shirt that was a square with strings-- at first I had to reread it, and then though oh yeah-- I had a ton of those! (My boobs have since paid the price, but, aahhhhh, the happy memories.)
5. The grow room. It seems there has been some criticism of the specifics in other reviews, and the thought that they weren't necessary. But girl, I hear you. Without them the community never would have bought into it. Plus, the smell of fish poop lingered in my subconscious throughout the entire book. It was a bit uninteresting as those things go, but I totally get it, and it was necessary.
6. The $20 pancakes. Amen!
There is more, a ton more, but I am at Starbucks (damn the man!) and getting the evil eye for my inappropriate laughing (I am alone), so I may add more later. Just overall I LOVED IT!
Naked hot tubbing. Burning Man. Clones. Dogs. SF. Thousie's. Kangol coolness for male-pattern-balding. All real and raw, and so glad to have read it. I am a little shocked there weren't as many dreadlocks as I would have thought, but then again I was on the East Coast where everyone tried a little bit harder. ;) I would give this book 10 stars, and look forward to somehow, someday, getting my Tweezers autographed (think Tit Hair). I live in the East Bay, living the life of a "Single Mom-a" vs. a Pot Wife Mama... look me up, I will be first in line if you ever have more book signings. And I'm serious about the tweezers...
February 17, 2015
This book really starts out nauseating, as if it's going to be another bubble-living Hollywood hipster on a journey of self-discovery that only someone who's never been hungry could seek to go on. But if you get past those first few pages, what's here is really both a funny, self-effacing memoir of a one-hit-wonder actor's life after fame, and an interesting insight into the legally gray world of growing medical marijuana, as she ditches her down-and-out-in-LA life for the backwoods of NorCal and her very own pot farm. There is a surprising amount of technical detail on the business of "growing," and a fun portrait of the community of plucky, though stereotypically hippy growers that band together like old homesteaders to run it. With the increase in legalization of recreational marijuana, it's likely then this contemporaneously captures a sub-culture that may soon be lost, as demand and profit will likely bring traditional industrial agriculture; and even if it doesn't, the removal of the gray area in which these growers now operate may obviate the need for such a close-knit community watching out for each other.
If what you're looking for is some behind-the-scenes dishing on Blair Witch, or Hollywood, or even what it was like to be famous for 15 minutes, there's almost none of that. Indeed, she makes clear she wanted a break from that life, even as she begrudgingly admits we all probably bought the book because she's "the girl from The Blair Witch Project." Aside from that po-faced self-inflicted self-pity self-identity crisis, and the fact that she clearly has no problem making herself the center of attention with her needs (as she seems to do in spades with the "community,") the author otherwise sounds like a really funny, fun, creative, engaging, and maybe even ultimately humble person; and her book is likewise funny, fun, and interesting.
If what you're looking for is some behind-the-scenes dishing on Blair Witch, or Hollywood, or even what it was like to be famous for 15 minutes, there's almost none of that. Indeed, she makes clear she wanted a break from that life, even as she begrudgingly admits we all probably bought the book because she's "the girl from The Blair Witch Project." Aside from that po-faced self-inflicted self-pity self-identity crisis, and the fact that she clearly has no problem making herself the center of attention with her needs (as she seems to do in spades with the "community,") the author otherwise sounds like a really funny, fun, creative, engaging, and maybe even ultimately humble person; and her book is likewise funny, fun, and interesting.
February 14, 2017
Offbeat window into the world of freelance medical marijuana growing...or quarter-life crisis writ large-? Not quite what you expect it to be, but an oddly self-aware trip down what usually looks to be a carefree path.
February 3, 2016
Growgirl: How My Life After the Blair Witch Project Went to Pot by Heather Donahue (Gotham Books 2012) (Biography) is a most engaging memoir. The author, who enjoyed fleeting fame in a single Hollywood blockbuster in the 1990's, has washed up upon the shores of a marijuana-growing hotbed of California freedom known only as "Nuggettown." The story opens as a fast-dying romance and a loose plan to grow medical marijuana combine to lead the author into an interesting community of new-era hipsters and wannabe farmers. The most surreal section of the narrative takes place when the author goes to the festival known as "Burning Man" in the California desert and describes her experience with pure liquid LSD: "...the LSD had definitely kicked in by then. When I turn back around, the group is gone. I wander. There is nowhere i need to be, nowhere I am expected, and I am tripping balls. I am disoriented, but everything is clear and perfect. I am lost, so I can't get lost. I move from the flaming center toward the quiter edges. There used to be a tourism ad campaign for Canada: "The world next door." I'm in neurochemical Canada." Growgirl, p. 201. I enjoyed this one very much. My rating: 7/10, finished 11/8/12.
April 11, 2012
This girl really grew on me. The first two chapters are almost unreadable: she likes stream of consciousness with lots of commas, the story and her intentions for the story go every which way, and it's hard to believe it is not going to be an embarrassment to your bookshelf.
But then she rallys and the story becomes really funny. The scene: a northern california gorgeous hippy commune with a steamy underbelly of narcissism and gross hot tub water. Heather has a strange knack for telling many embarrassing stories that you truly believe happend the way she said. Several times I gasped in wonder at how wrong things went for her.
It reminded me of the film "Tiny Furniture" in that I couldn't resist the central character's hapless wrecking of her life, and at the same time admired her approach so much.
Also, pot farming sounds like a tons more work and anxiety than you'd hope. But it's true: they are making six figures and creeping off to Bali for half the year.
But then she rallys and the story becomes really funny. The scene: a northern california gorgeous hippy commune with a steamy underbelly of narcissism and gross hot tub water. Heather has a strange knack for telling many embarrassing stories that you truly believe happend the way she said. Several times I gasped in wonder at how wrong things went for her.
It reminded me of the film "Tiny Furniture" in that I couldn't resist the central character's hapless wrecking of her life, and at the same time admired her approach so much.
Also, pot farming sounds like a tons more work and anxiety than you'd hope. But it's true: they are making six figures and creeping off to Bali for half the year.
December 18, 2019
In all honesty I started reading Growgirl for the simple fact that I’ve always been a diehard fan of the film “The Blair Witch Project”. This book was completely different than anything I’ve read before, but I found myself laughing out loud at some of the awkward moments and just how raw it could be. The protagonist and author, Heather Donahue, shows you exactly what it takes to navigate your first year in the Northern California grow scene, and she has no problem putting it all out on the table on the way believe me!! Although I do think there was some details of the book that were a bit hard for me to grasp and may have went over my head, it was still understandable and enjoyable. I actually ended up learning a ton of new vocab on the way as well! After reading Growgirl it’s safe to say myself and so many others are able to see Heather Donahue as so much more than just “That girl from the Blair Witch Project”.
February 25, 2012
This was an amusing and quick read. Only slightly annoyed by the whole "woe, I'm an actor in a famous movie and everyone recognizes me" stuff. (By now, shouldn't actors know that fame/success means recognition?) I liked her storytelling style, even while I was rolling my eyes at all the hippie shit. Meanwhile I was interested in her attempts (and failures) to raise chickens, grow gardens, live in the country. I'm certain I could do better than she did, but I doubt I could be half as poetic about it.
June 12, 2012
Quirky, different and interesting. I picked this book up in the new book section of a local library, desperate for something to read. I never thought I would like this book, because normally I prefer something I can relate to in some way...needless to say this book is about as far away from my life as I can get. But perhaps that is why I enjoyed it so much. Some parts were a bit long winded for me. I just did not care to know such detail about the actual growing of the pot plant, but the lifestyle and her interesting personality kept me intrigued.
July 10, 2012
Heather Donahue left Los Angeles and an acting career to grow marijuana in Mendocino in northern California for a year. This book is the story of that year of her life. It is an interesting look into the northern California grows. Most of the book is good, I disliked her cavalier treatment of her responsibilities to her animals, she lost a turtle and a flock of chickens to carelessness. I also didn't care for her bit about the hospice care, it can't make up for her essential selfishness. But aside from these quibbles the book was well done.
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