Reflecting on the Grist… the inspiration and the process

I don’t know where this story came from, except I borrowed details from other stories, true stories.  My older son’s classmate broke his neck at Sandys.  During an autobiographical class at University of Hawai‘i, Mānoa, I met their classmate who had been bodysurfing with him when the accident happened.  My friend Marty had been a paramedic and answered a call where a young man died of a pneumothorax wound; that incident deeply affected Marty; he felt so helpless, because at the time paramedics in his state were not authorized to treat that particular injury.  I fact checked with my classmate Dr. Tim.

In the story, there’s a stretch of road where the accident occurs.  In reality, it’s the stretch of road across from Crouching Lion, and although I have often seen rocks piled on the side of the road there, I have never seen a surfer, only fisherpeople.  

I inherited a purple troll from a family event.  The cooking classes in this story were fictional at the time I wrote this story, but in pre-COVID times, classes were taking place at the college where I teach.

Although I’ve never had to deal with the death of a child, I have friends and family members who have lost a child and then their minds for a time.  Based on their experiences, I don’t think there’s anything worse than burying a child. 

The story was workshopped under the mentorship of Ian MacMillan and included in my MA thesis, The Grace of Dark Times.

Reflecting on the Grist… the inspiration and the process for “Ellie’s Blanket”

When I was a graduate student I enrolled in a “researching for fiction” class with Achy Obejas (Pulitzer Prize, 2001).  We were tasked to learn how to do something and then weave that newly-acquired skill into a story.  The trick was to not have it read like a step-by-step, how-to process.  I decided on two options: making bio-fuel or harvesting and using wool.  Achy approved of the latter, saying it would be more tactile.  

When I was a child living in Ealing, England, one of the community services we worked on as students of Harvington School for Girls was to knit pieces that would be integrated into blankets that would be donated to an old folks home.  Each year my mother and I would knit three panels, 36 stitches across, by 3 feet long each.  Then my mother would sew them together and croquet the edge.  I remember going to bed with a few inches knitted and get up in the morning to find a long length completed by Mom.  Magic.  So much fun!  So, I already knew how to knit and I had the sheep, so I focused my research on processing the wool from harvest to the final product, a baby blanket.  I ordered equipment, and I would love to say I learned how to card and spin, but, due to time constraints, I watched videos instead. And I closely observed my sheep, particularly the ewes and lambs. 

I remember driving and thinking about the assignment, and just as I passed Kualoa Ranch I saw the story unfold backwards.  I saw Sammy sitting with a lamb in her lap.  I understood she would bury it wrapped in a blanket made from its mother’s wool.  Then the questions came.  What events had led to this point?  Who was Sammy and what had happened to her?  I asked the questions and patiently waited for the story to take shape with each answer revealed. 

It is a fictional story, and even the town where Sammy and Ben visit is fictional, but it was inspired by a tiny community on the Island of Hawai‘i near Honoka‘a from which I borrow many of my descriptions.  

This piece was turned in for Achy’s class, further work-shopped in my writing group (Tammy, Chris, Tom) mentored by Ian MacMillan.  It was included in my MA thesis collection, The Grace of Dark Times.  And I was so honored when Ian selected it for publication in the Hawai`i Review.  

I read this story at an Out Loud in the Library event at Windward Community College in the old library when I was an adjunct.  The audience was stunned when I read the ending… you could have literally heard a pin drop onto the carpet. A number of people came up afterwards telling me how it had affected them.  I also remember that my mom was there (I was thrilled!) and her phone rang in the middle of my reading.  And she answered it.  Hmmm…  😉