Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge is busy growing its playoff beard. This week's word is "unconscious", and my story about unconscious bias is called "Assume".
Her pregnancy had been a seemingly unending series of bad news, restrictions, and rules. You can't do this anymore, you're not allowed to have that. I was sitting next to her, facing her as she sat. The curtain parted and a tiny woman with tight brown curls and cute glasses came through, holding a chart.
"We've decided we're going to induce you in the morning," she said firmly in a little girl voice.
I had come quickly to my feet. "When did the doctor decide that?," I asked.
"Just now," she said. "I'm the doctor."
Friday, June 03, 2011
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
IndieInk Writing Challenge: Ashamed
This week, as part of the IndieInk Writing Challenge, I challenge Manju, asking her "What do you want from me?", while I am challenged by The Onion, not the satirical newspaper but instead someone with lots of layers (onions have layers, as Donkey told us). This tear inducing vegetable asks me to write about a time when I felt shame. There are no shortage of those, for sure.
I don't typically write about personal things. (I used to. In my archive are post upon post whining about my personal problems.) I do this because I'm a coward- I find it easier to put my feelings into people that don't exist. I've been wrestling about this challenge, because I'm not sure exactly which event would both fail to cause terminal embarrassment and somehow provide edification and/or entertainment.
But I'm going to try.
Evan Dando would argue that it's a shame about Ray.
Billy Joel would instead argue that he is Shameless.
John Lennon, quoting Fats Domino, would ask us Ain't That A Shame?
I've been thinking about this question all week. I've tried approaching this question politically, poetically, fictionally, and factually- and all my efforts have come out pathetically.
What is wrong with me? There are so many blogs, full of confessions about rape, pregnancy, incest, abuse of all sorts. Brave people, baring their souls to try and comfort humans they have never met. And then, there's me: unwilling to tell even the smallest embarrassing story. What am I afraid of?
I guess, in the end, the thing that I feel the most shame about is my inability to talk about anything meaningful. I wish I had the bravery to show my vulnerabilities.
- Posted using BlogPress
I don't typically write about personal things. (I used to. In my archive are post upon post whining about my personal problems.) I do this because I'm a coward- I find it easier to put my feelings into people that don't exist. I've been wrestling about this challenge, because I'm not sure exactly which event would both fail to cause terminal embarrassment and somehow provide edification and/or entertainment.
But I'm going to try.
Evan Dando would argue that it's a shame about Ray.
Billy Joel would instead argue that he is Shameless.
John Lennon, quoting Fats Domino, would ask us Ain't That A Shame?
I've been thinking about this question all week. I've tried approaching this question politically, poetically, fictionally, and factually- and all my efforts have come out pathetically.
What is wrong with me? There are so many blogs, full of confessions about rape, pregnancy, incest, abuse of all sorts. Brave people, baring their souls to try and comfort humans they have never met. And then, there's me: unwilling to tell even the smallest embarrassing story. What am I afraid of?
I guess, in the end, the thing that I feel the most shame about is my inability to talk about anything meaningful. I wish I had the bravery to show my vulnerabilities.
- Posted using BlogPress
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