[stylist] writing what you don't know

[Priscilla McKinley]

Bridgit,

I'm just wondering what you don't know in this section.  I assume this
is your mother and you in the hospital, but it seems as though all is
written as though you do know what happened.  Am I missing something?

When I think of writing what I don't know, I think of using words like
Patricia used last night.
I imagined...
Perhaps she felt...
I think...

Nice writing.

Priscilla



On 10/25/10, Bridgit Pollpeter <bpollpeter at hotmail.com> wrote:
> Hey,
>
> Last night, Patricia Foster, during our monthly phone meeting, spoke
> about writing what you don't know.  Using conjecture, she encouraged us
> to create sections of memoir, essay and autobio that tell someone elses
> story or perspective.  She spoke about using our imaginations to develop
> a part of our writing that steps outside the borders of our own thoughts
> and perspective.
>
> I thought it would be fun to use this as a writing prompt for the list.
> I challenge everyone to write something about another person, or
> persons, and get inside their mind.
>
> Here is my attempt.  Enjoy.
>
> Bridgit
>
> The incessant drip of the IV filled the silence as she lay pale and
> dying in the hospital bed.  Her mother sat semi-conscious in the blue
> vinyl recliner the nurse had brought in.  Two months and no change had
> occurred.  Her family watched day after day as she slipped further away
> from their reality at the age of twenty-two.  The unknown virus had
> taken her strength, and all it left was a tiny shell that seemed ready
> to collapse at the slightest touch.
>
> The girl on the bed moved and murmured slightly.  Her mother placed her
> fingertips on the girl's hand.
>
> "Honey, are you okay?  It's Mommy.  I'm here, sweetie."
>
> "It hurts," she whispered.
>
> "I know, baby.  I'll call the nurse."
>
> Her mom pressed the call light and prepared for the inevitable wait.
> She stared at the wires and tubes that stuck all over her daughter.  The
> main line sticking from her daughter's protruding collar bone had taken
> an hour to put in.  Her mom recalled the frustration of the nurse who
> attempted to glide the line through her daughter's collapsed veins.
> Sweat had formed on the nurse's brow and she had seemed ready to give
> up.  The blood that spurted from her daughter's vein had made her
> nauseous, but she had gripped the bed until she had almost passed out.
> Her daughter had laid there unable to cry from the dehydration that left
> her face hollow.
>
> A nurse entered with squeaking footsteps and a cheery expression that
> belied the distance she kept from her patients.
>
> "What can I do for you?" the nurse asked.
>
> "She is having the pain again.  Can we give her more morphine?"
>
> The nurse raised an eyebrow as she reached for the chart clipped to the
> foot of the bed.  "It's too soon.  Maybe if you can get her out of bed
> and walk around it would do some good."
>
> "Excuse me?  Are you insane?  My daughter has been here for almost two
> months and dying and you want her out of bed?"
>
> The nurse remained grinning as she crossed her wide arms.
>
> "I am just making a suggestion."
>
> The conversation was interrupted by a scream as the girl on the bed
> twisted.
>
> "Can't you see she is in pain?" the mom asked.
>
> She touched her daughter's warm skin that a moment before had been ice
> cold and whispered soft, soothing sounds.  The mom glared at the nurse,
> who still retained her composure.
>
> "Let me call the doctor."  The nurse waddled out of the room with her
> permanent smile.
>
> "Mommy, please make it stop."
>
> "I know, baby."  The mom sighed deep and heavy.
>
> She always felt the pain of her children, but revealing her emotions
> would not make it stop.  Her first born, the one most similar to her,
> was slipping away and she couldn't cry.  Not in front of her, but she
> wanted to take it all away.  She would trade places if it were possible.
> All she could do now was squeeze the boney hand that felt child-like
> once again.
>
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