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I'm in for my first Thunderdome! Can't wait to win my avatar of shame.
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Oct 18, 2013 16:17
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| # ¿ Jul 11, 2025 05:51 |
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Here's a link to a published google doc view if anyone prefers that: Familial Familial (975 words) “Fatal familial insomnia,” the doctor said to her first question. “It’s not good,” to her second. “You’ll still be able to dream; that happens in the light phase. It’s primarily the deep-wave sleep that’s affected.” For months she had told herself that it was normal, a postpartum thing, and her grief counselor agreed. Until one Sunday morning while over her morning cocktail of Xanax, Paxil, Tofranil, Premarin, and chamomile tea, a cardinal landed on the bird feeder outside the kitchen window and she realized she wasn’t sad anymore. There were still sad moments, but every day there were fewer, and now she felt that she had reached an escape velocity from the gravity of her loss. But the sleep situation hadn’t improved. The doctor clicked his pen while he flipped through her charts. When he looked up at her, it was only for an instant before looking back at the charts, as if there were something in her that he didn’t want to see. “It’s an extremely rare condition. Less than a hundred known cases since we started keeping track. I sent samples to my colleagues at Mayo and Stanford to confirm it.” He turned to the next page. “The disease often presents itself after giving birth. There’s a strong hereditary component, so in that way, losing her might have been a mercy.” She instinctively covered her belly with her hands. “Did I get it from my parents?” Both of her parents were still alive, and slept as soundly as any parent can. Her grandmother, on the other hand, drowned while swimming alone late one night after a prolonged period of ‘hysterical agitation’ as the newspaper reported it. “They could be carriers, even if they’re in good health.” He explained the progression of the disease: paranoia giving way to hallucinations, weight loss, dementia, and finally a terminal catatonia, all within a few months. All for lack of sleep. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed,” the doctor said. “I’ll give you a number to call — someone who can help you settle your affairs.” She called the number that afternoon. She answered a few menu options until finally getting on the line with an eager case-worker who introduced herself as Erin. They filled out a questionnaire together. Was she married: yes, technically. Did she have any children: no. Did she own her home? Had she paid off her mortgage? Were their any tax liens on the property? “I’m a lawyer,” she told Erin. “Everything is fine. Legally fine. I don’t know why I called. I can take care of all this on my own.” "Maybe you just needed someone to talk to." "loving brilliant insight." She stopped and held the phone against her neck for a moment. "I'm sorry. I just got some really bad news." "It's okay. This is hospice — everyone who calls has bad news. Have you told your family yet?" "Not yet. I'm dreading that call more than actually dying. God, it feel weird to say that. You know, I went to law school so they would take me seriously, but they still don't. It's the opposite for my brother. Nothing he does is good enough." She put on a pot of water for tea. "And it's a genetic thing. I'm dying because my dad's a carrier. How do I break that news to him?" "Maybe this is a conversation you should have with him," Erin said. "You're right. I’m going to tell them; I have to tell them. The doctor says I’m going to go crazy at the end. Can you imagine? All my life I want them to respect me, and their last image of me is going to be me drooling in a wheelchair. Mostly I'm afraid of how they'll react. What if I tell them and they don't care?" "Come on. Don’t think like that. Of course they’ll care." The tea kettle whistled and she started a cup of chamomile tea. "Do you think I would have been like my parents? Would my little Olive feel the same way about me that way I do about my parents?" "Olive?" "That's what I called her. The OB-GYN said she was a little bigger than an olive on my first visit. No birth, no birth certificate and no legal name. It's just something I called her." The cardinal was back at the bird feeder, picking through the grains for the sunflower seeds that he liked. "My husband left the same week I told him. Said he wasn't ready to be a father since his own father wasn't there for him growing up. Dumb rear end. Like the solution to the problem is more of the problem." Erin was quiet. "Still there?" "Still here." "You weren't saying anything." She was so tired, a deep exhaustion compounded by the knowledge that she would never rest again. "Nothing changes, does it?" Without waiting for a response,she told Erin she would call back later and made a show of repeating the extension even though she didn't write it down.. She called her parents’ house and it went to their voice mail. She hung up without leaving a message and then called her mother’s cell phone, which also went to voice mail. As she was about to call her father, a text message arrived from her mother: Pastor Andrews visiting. Will call tonight if not too late. She replied: I’ll be awake. Her tea went cold and she didn't bother to heat it up. The cardinal flew away but she stayed by the window. Her phone rang once around seven, but it was the Red Cross, asking for her blood, and she hung up without saying a word. When the sun came up the next morning she was still there, wide awake. Maybe for the first time and maybe for the last, fully and forever awake.
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Oct 21, 2013 03:16
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bald gnome error posted:The only way through my shame is to be cleansed in the fire of criticism. Please tell me how much I suck. Short version: it didn't suck. You just need to cut it down to end up with a stronger story. There's a balance to strike between setting the scene/tone and telling the story, and my main criticism is that you linger too long on the scene before you get to the story. Here are a few examples of sentences that are beautifully written, but slow the story down: quote:I always thought I was a different kind of person. That I would love and love forever like I had when I was younger - that I would hummingbird between people and cities and families, whirling around in a perpetual cycle of new love. That I could not be settled. When the building is up, you take the scaffolding down. Cut it. quote:I shook and the blood thumped in my face and I did not vomit and hauled another load of books up another stair. "I did not vomit" was weird to me because there are innumerable things that the character didn't do at that moment. I assume he also didn't poo poo his pants, for example. Again, good poetry, but I say cut it. quote:There is not a ghost in our apartment but there is a death. This is where things kick into gear. The dreamy prose works better in this section than it does when you're describing very concrete actions, like moving into a new apartment. You have 700 very good words in here; now get rid of the other 300 and it will be top-notch. Also, very sad.
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Oct 21, 2013 17:19
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As the proverb says: A ship in harbor is safe, and I'm going to lose this loving thunderdome. IN
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Oct 22, 2013 16:16
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Erogenous Beef posted:Posting from (almost) beyond the grave to say: in. I think that technically puts you IN the grave.
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Oct 23, 2013 16:27
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Added Space posted:Being a pedophile, while creepy, is not inherently a crime. A teacher kissing a student seems illegal. I'm not a pedodefense lawyer though, so who knows?
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Oct 25, 2013 20:12
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| # ¿ Jul 11, 2025 05:51 |
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Lupinum (870 words) Can't wait for the surprise second phase of this Thunderdome! e: changed link to allow commenting J Hume fucked around with this message at 02:34 on Oct 28, 2013 |
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Oct 28, 2013 02:31
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